


All Our Missing Pieces

by justanothersong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Frottage, Infertility, M/M, Medical Jargon, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Dean, Omega Dean Winchester, Slow Build, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 44,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At seventeen, Dean’s parents sat him down and discussed going in for some medical exams. It was beyond having children, they explained, knowing that Dean’s bravado would cause him to roll his eyes at the thought of settling down and being a father when he was so young; there were other concerns, they explained, cancers and endocrine disorders to discuss, and even the possibility that his rut would hit too harsh if left for too long. Dean had agreed and spent the most embarrassing and invasive hours of his life at a downtown clinic, returning some days later to sit opposite a kind-faced doctor friend of his parents’, his mother and father flanking his sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When a Beta showed signs of difficulties with their cycles or fertility, it seemed there was a world of sympathy and understanding just waiting for them. Even at the youngest age, when their biological status first began to present, there was treatment for reproductive health available, and counseling for those having trouble accepting that they may need medical intervention if they wanted to start a family of their own someday.

Fertility treatments. Synthetic hormones. In-vitro fertilization. Surrogacy. Options upon options, really, plus medical ways of stimulating the libido of those who didn’t want children, but wanted a healthy and active sex life. 

When a Beta encountered a problem, there was usually some sort of solution available.

For an Alpha or an Omega? Not so much.

 

Dean Winchester was born to an unusual couple, an Alpha female mated to an Alpha male. It was rare that two Alphas were able to work as a couple, the heavy adrenaline and blend of hormones common to Alphas often repelling others of the same sex, though in some cases, and very definitely in the case of John and Mary Winchester, something in their scents and libidos struck home. They bonded on sight, were a mated couple within hours, and expecting their first child in days. 

When Dean was born, his bloodwork indicated that he would most likely present as either an Alpha or Omega once he hit maturity. The same was found to be true for his younger brother, Sam, when he came along four years later. Everyone assumed the two Alphas would, of course, breed strong Alpha sons. It only made sense.

Young Sam Winchester presented early, and went into his first Alpha rut at the tender age of eleven years. His parents had suspected it was coming when, in the days before, Sam grew snappish and angry with just about everyone he encountered, and managed to have the birds and the bees talk with the boy just before shutting him in his bedroom for the duration. Sam became the king of the playground in the days following, a full blown Alpha before even reaching junior high.

At fifteen, Dean was more than a little embarrassed that his baby brother had presented before him, though no one around him could tell. The assumption had long been that Dean was an Alpha, like his parents and now his brother, and had simply been on hormone therapy and suppressants to keep his ruts controllable until he was old enough to find a mate.

So no one but his closest friends, Charlie and Jo, a Beta couple, and Benny, an Omega male, knew about it when at seventeen, Dean’s parents sat him down and discussed going in for some medical exams. It was beyond having children, they explained, knowing that Dean’s bravado would cause him to roll his eyes at the thought of settling down and being a father when he was so young; there were other concerns, they explained, cancers and endocrine disorders to discuss, and even the possibility that his rut would hit too harsh if left for too long. Dean had agreed and spent the most embarrassing and invasive hours of his life at a downtown clinic, returning some days later to sit opposite a kind-faced doctor friend of his parents’, his mother and father flanking his sides.

 

“There are a few things we need to talk about, Dean,” Dr. Harvelle told him, focusing on the teenager himself rather than his parents. It was one of the many reasons Dean liked Ellen Harvelle: she treated the patient as the most important person in the room, even if they were still underage. That, and the fact that she was the mother of one of his best friends, Jo, and he had spent as much time in her home as he had in his own over the years.

“That doesn’t sound so good,” Dean grumbled, cheeks tinted pink at the embarrassment of it all. It was one thing to see the doc for check-ups and broken toes, but something else entirely knowing that she now knew the most intimate parts of him.

It was weird, and creepy, but Dean was still glad it was her. He didn’t know if he could have handled it from a stranger.

 

“Is… is Dean alright, Ellen?” Mary asked, brows knitted together in concern, one hand clasping her son’s where it sat on the arm of his chair. Her husband echoed her question with a nod.

“There is nothing life-threatening we need to worry about, so you just put that right out of your minds,” Ellen told them, the authoritative tone to her voice somehow lessening Dean’s anxiety over the whole thing. 

That was a mark in the plus column, right?

“So what’s the verdict then, Doc?” Dean asked, brightening a little. “Just a late rutter or what?”

The doctor smiled kindly at him, and Dean heard his mother’s breath catch in her throat as they all noted the slight hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Not quite, honey,” Ellen told him, head cocked to the side as she spoke. “Turns out you’re not an Alpha after all.”

Dean sat up a little straighter. “I’m a Beta?” he asked. Surprising, yes, but it would explain everything. Betas didn’t go into ruts or heats like Alphas and Omegas; Dean had been waiting for something that he never had to worry about at all.

Mary frowned. “But his blood tests all showed the Alpha-Omega markers,” she said, confused. The hormones presented so strongly even in infants that a mistake was practically unheard of. “He can’t be a Beta.”

“Dean is not a Beta,” Ellen agreed, speaking gently. Turning to face the teenager, she gave him another soft smile. “Dean, you’re an Omega.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m a breeder?!” Dean spat out in surprise.

His father reached over and cuffed the teen lightly on the side of the head. “Mouth, Dean,” he warned. ‘Breeder’ was a less than friendly term used for Omegas, particularly Omega males; while all of the sexes were able to reproduce, Omegas were known for being particularly virile and they went through cyclical heats that put their libido into overdrive with a need to mate and breed. Female Omegas were somewhat prized for their ease of having children, though males were still somewhat stigmatized.

 

Dean had never said an unkind word against an Omega, male or female, before in his life, even if the thoughts crossed his mind unbidden now and again, product of social conditioning. Knowing now, though, that he would be counted among that number was… strange, for one. He didn’t know what to think, or what to feel. 

“If Dean is an Omega, he should’ve gone into heat by now,” John spoke up. While some Alphas might have been uncomfortable with the idea of an Omega son, the elder Winchester’s only concern was for his son’s health and safety. Nothing beyond that could hold a candle to knowing that his boy was going to have a long and happy life. “Is it cos of me and Mary and Sam? I’ve read an article here and there sayin’ sometimes an Omega’s heat could be suppressed if they’re around too many Alphas. Like some kinda biological safety switch.”

Ellen shook her head. “Because of the familial relation, Dean wouldn’t react to the Alpha pheromones at home, the same way the rest of you would be repelled by his heat scent. It’s another ‘biological safety switch’,” she said, echoing the teen’s father with a smile. “We see it even in Betas; if the genetic makeup is too similar, the natural body scents will repel. Sort of an evolutionary trigger to keep faulty genes from being passed on.”

Mary had been listening and nodded, then glanced to her son. She had noticed how quiet the boy had gone and could see he had paled, his features drawn into a frown. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and touched his cheek before turning back to face the doctor.

“Then why hasn’t Dean gone into his heat yet?” she asked, careful to say ‘his’ heat, trusting the doctor and helping her son to own his surprising, if not downright disheartening, sexual status. “I don’t know many Omegas, honestly, but Dean’s friend Ben went into his first heat when the boys were still in junior high. I thought it was always that early for Omega males.”

“It typically is,” Ellen agreed with a nod. “While all of our tests and exams have shown that Dean is perfectly healthy, what we’re seeing here is that Dean’s reproductive system seems to be held in some sort of stasis.” She turned her gaze directly to the teen once again. “You’ve got all the ingredients, boy, you just haven’t started cooking. So that leaves us a few options.”

“Options?” Dean echoed, arching a dark blonde eyebrow at the doctor’s words. 

“There are hormone treatments,” the doctor explained, noting Dean’s grimace at her words with a soft, sad smile. “A series of injections meant to jumpstart the reproductive cycle, bring on a heat.”

Mary frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked. She remembered horror stories from her youth, tales of drugs just like the ones Ellen described being misused or, worse still, malfunctioning, bringing on an endless heat that would burn out an Omega entirely, leading to an overstressed death.

Ellen sighed. “There are risks,” she relented. “There’s just not enough research into Omega cycling yet. It’s a damn shame, if you ask me. We know every Beta issue from start to finish but Alpha and Omegas may as well be a mystery, as much research as we have to go on, but you know how it was. We’re talking centuries of myth and discrimination to deal with, I mean hell, look back thirty, forty years ago, Mary, and you and Johnny here wouldn’t even be allowed to get hitched.”

“Are there any other options, Ellen?” John asked, leaning forward in his seat. “They pumped my mother full of those synthetic hormones when she and Pop wanted more kids and all it did was give her cancer. There’s gotta be something safer out there for Dean.”

“There’s surgeries,” Ellen relented, frowning. She wasn’t a fan of either option, but surgical intervention was the last thing she wanted to see visited upon the young man she had known since he was in diapers. “There are some surgeons who don’t have a problem going in and neutralizing an Omega’s system. Then there’d be no heats, none of it, but Dean would more likely than not be sterile, on both counts.”

The teenager stared with wide, worried eyes. “How about we just leave me the hell alone?” he finally said, earning a frown from his father. “Look, seriously, just leave it. I don’t care. I’m seventeen years old, I don’t want a heat. I don’t know if I ever want kids. If nothing is hurting me then I wanna just leave it. No one even has to know I’m s’posed to be Omega, right?”

Ellen nodded, though there was a certain sadness in her eyes. “Yes, that’s true,” she relented. “But, Dean –”

“No, seriously, no buts,” Dean cut in, shaking his head, eyes gone a little wild in panic. “Just leave it alone, and I’ll be fine.”

“Dean, honey, it’s not that simple,” his mother said quietly.

The doctor nodded. “Your mother is right,” she agreed. “Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but there’s more to Omegas than heats and reproduction,” Ellen went on. “You’re going to be biologically wired in a different way than most. Hell, I’m surprised we never saw it, the way you keep after that kid brother of yours. You’re a caregiver, Dean. It is a part of who you are. You’re going to want to have someone of your own to take care of, and it’ll only get stronger as you get older. It’s tough enough for Betas who want families and can’t have them; it’ll be worse for you.”

“I’m fine,” Dean protested, near pleading. He didn’t want injections or surgeries. He wasn’t happy, not with any of it, but he’d rather go back to pretending he didn’t know. No heats, no ruts, he could manage that; he’d just pretend he was a Beta, if the topic ever came up, and be done with it. “I’m fine. We can just leave it, I’ll be fine.”


	2. Chapter 2

And he was fine. For years, Dean was fine.

He was fine when Sam, following in his parents’ footsteps, deviated from the social and biological norm of an Alpha claiming an Omega and settled down with a feisty Beta named Madison that he’d met on Spring Break, keeping in touch on the internet until they graduated college and finding their way back together, taking an apartment not far from the Winchester family home.

He was fine when his childhood friend Benny met Andrea, an Alpha, who convinced the burly Omega to return with her to her home, thousands of miles away on the Greek island of Crete. Dean still received regular postcards and snapshots of a frankly alarming number of children, but that was Benny; Dean had never seen him happier than in the photos he sent, a small mountain of a man with squirming toddlers climbing all over him and their proud mother looking on with a smile. 

Dean was fine when Jo and Charlie ultimately split up. Jo wanted a family, and Charlie didn’t want any children, so the two chose to go their separate ways. It was tough on them both but amicable, and they manage to remain friends even when Charlie met someone new, an archaeology professor visiting at the university where Charlie taught computer sciences. Life in travel and exploration afforded no time for children and Dot – given name of Dorothy – was fine with that, and even happier with Charlie at her side.

He was fine when Jo quietly cried on his shoulder, admitting that though she knew Charlie’s stance on children even when they were teenagers, she had let herself imagine a house full of little redheaded scamps.

He was fine when Jo met Garth, awkward and gawky and terribly sweet, and in less than a year’s time the two had married and announced to a joyful (if surprised) gathering of family and friends that they were expecting their first child in only a few months.

Dean was fine when Sam and Madison brought home twin bundles of joy, all dark eyes and shocks of messy black hair, fraternal twins destined to grow up to be Betas.

He insisted he was fine through all of it, denying any latent biological need to mold and nurture any young, even as his short-lived career in police work led him instead into social services, and then on into specializing in cases of helping fractured families regroup and repairing family units broken by death, drugs, and prison.

If asked, Dean would insist he was just fine, even as he went home to an empty apartment, stared at the television without really seeing it, and drank himself to sleep so that he might forget how raw and empty and alone he felt.

The worst of it was that he didn’t understand why. He was happy with his life, such that it was, and didn’t feel denied of anything. He dated, slept around if the mood struck him, and had no lack in willing partners. He had friends, in and out of work, and a loving family.

All in all, he should have been happy.

But he wasn’t. Dean just wasn’t happy. There was something there, something nagging at the back of his mind and tugging at his heartstrings at a near constant basis. 

 

His mother was certain it was all about children. It was in an Omega’s nature, she would tell him, to want children of their own, to settle down, start a family. Mary Winchester often worked her own brand of motherly magic behind the scenes, to arrange for at least weekly visits for Dean with his niece and nephew, and offering up his babysitting services to anyone who might need them.

It was a little much, he thought, but all in all, he didn’t mind. He was great with kids, after all, and had no problem spending an afternoon with his niece and nephew, or even taking care of the neighbor’s kids for an hour or two on the weekends. Truth was, kids loved him; it worked out for everyone, really.

Dean knew it wasn’t some biological need to breed that was eating away at him, no matter what his mother said, but he relented to her ministrations, and as time passed, she kept growing more and more persistent. When a rare free Tuesday afternoon found him seated at his mother’s kitchen table, spooning pureed sweet potatoes into little Maggie Winchester’s mouth, while her brother Alex used the opportunity to squash his own recent mouthful into his hair, she put her latest plan into action.

“I had Ellen over for coffee last Saturday,” she remarked mildly, rinsing a bottle out at the kitchen sink. Sam and Madison seemed to think the dishwasher took care of them just fine, so Mary only resorted to hand-washing the already machine washed bottles after her son and daughter-in-law left for the day. They could rely on the latest technology all they wanted; Mary might not be an Omega, but she was a damn good mother, and she knew better than her silly son and his well-meaning bride.

“Oh yeah?” Dean replied, not noticing the hint of scheming in his mother’s voice as she spoke. “What’s she up to? How’s Billy?” he asked; it had been a few weeks since he had seen Ellen’s daughter, Jo, her husband, and their toddler son.

“They’re fine,” Mary answered mildly, rinsing another bottle. “Garth is moving his dental practice to a new office, and Jo is teaching a new Omega self-defense course at the Center.”

Dean frowned, glancing back at his mother. “Self-defense?” he asked. It seemed as though much had happened since he and Jo had last spoken.

“Mmhmm,” Mary agreed with a practiced breezy tone. “Ellen is ecstatic, of course. The Center is doing so well, and having Jo working with her every day is just icing on the cake.”

Maggie suddenly wailed, sending a mouthful of half-gnawed cracker all over Dean’s shirt, then laughed in delight at the mess she had made, with Alex joining in on his twin’s joyful chuckles. Dean only shook his head, grabbing the dish towel slung over his shoulder to try and wipe away as much of the mess as he could.

“All right, I’ll bite,” he said, casting an amused eye towards his mother. She couldn’t put a damn thing past him. “What’s this Center you keep trying to make me ask about?”

Mary frowned, swiveling to lean with her back against the counter. No matter how she tried, she had never been able to pull one over on Dean. He read people so well, it was like trying to lie straight faced to a priest. She’d be proud of him for it, if it didn’t spoil her little motherly schemes so often.

With a sigh, she shook her head. “You know, I don’t even know why I try.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, me neither. So what’s going on?”

“Ellen’s partnered with some other doctors to start up a place for… for people who might need a little help, something they’re not finding on their own,” Mary explained.

“Right,” Dean said with a snort. “People like Omegas?”

“That’s part of it, yes,” Mary told him. “It’s called the Center for Developmental Health and Enrichment. They’ve been open about three months, and it’s going very well.”

Maggie let out a happy squeal of “Deeeee!”, the twins’ name for their much-loved uncle, and her quieter brother decided to continue his edible hair styling techniques by smashing cracker crumbs into his forehead and up into his mop of dark hair. Dean smile at the two, wiping excess sweet potato off of Maggie’s face and handing a fresh cracker to Alex.

“I heard of that place,” Dean offered. He had come across word of the Center now and again during his work, and had placed some children there, though he hadn’t had chance to visit it himself as yet. “They’re running a daycare, right? Some sort of classes on sexuality and stuff too? I didn’t know Ell was involved.”

“She is!” Mary agreed, moving back to the sink. She dried two of the bottles she had rewashed and began filling them with apple juice thinned with purified water. She turned back to Dean, shaking a bottle in each hand to mix the liquids. The twins noticed the sound of sloshing juice almost immediately, both beginning to whine and reach out their hands towards their grandmother.

“It was all Ellen’s brainchild,” she went on. “The information children are getting in schools on their own sexuality is just ridiculously outdated. Betas get by alright but… well you know how it can be with Alphas and Omegas, not realizing what they’re in store for or how to handle themselves… and there’s still such prejudice against them at times. It’s sickening.”

Dean nodded. He’d had to go before a court on more than one occasion, speaking on behalf of a parent who deserved full custody of their children, only to have their parenting skills called into question because they were a single Alpha. Not to mention the terrible amount of cases involving young Omegas taken to breed against their full consent during the throws of a heat. 

“So, self-defense, eh? Not a bad plan,” he reasoned.

“Self-defense and training on handling heats… and training for Alphas, on handling ruts. Some do need a little self-control help. I mean, good lord, you should have seen your father and I when our ruts hit at the same time when we were young, and…” Mary replied.

“Whoa, Mom, hold on. More than I need to know there,” Dean told her, shaking his head.

Mary laughed. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, moving to coo softly at her grandchildren and distribute their juice. They grabbed at the bottles with greedy hands, popping them into their mouths immediately to pull happily at the juice inside. Mary smiled at them and smoothed back their hair before glancing back to Dean.

“The daycare is run completely by unmated Omegas,” she explained. “The children get looked after by well-qualified caregivers, and the Omegas get to spend time around the little ones… works out perfectly, don’t you think?”

Dean groaned. He’d been waiting for something like that. “Mom, c’mon. How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t have the baby-rabies, okay? I’m fine. I got you and Dad, Sam and Maddie, the kids, my friends… I don’t need you packing me off for baby therapy.”

“You can’t fool your mother, Dean,” Mary replied with a sigh. “I know you too well. Something is bothering you, you can’t deny that. And I was at your apartment two days ago for lunch. I saw the bottles in the trash. You can’t tell me you’re fine.”

“Jesus, you’re going through my recycling now?” he spat out in surprise.

Mary sighed again, ignoring his question. “Damn it, Dean. It can literally become dangerous for an unmated Omega, and you refuse to get any regular checkups. I will not have my son withering away and drowning himself in alcohol. Ellen thinks it would be best for you to spend some time at the Center, get to know your status a little better, and spend time with the children,” she said, unconsciously using a subtle Alpha tone in her voice, the one that always made her sons sit up a little straighter. “Besides, it would better for your work to have a good handle on a place with services that will be good for your clients. You’re going to spend some time there this Saturday, and that’s final.”


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s not all what you think it is, Dean,” Ellen Harvelle said early that Saturday morning, during Dean’s grand tour of the Center. He didn’t consider himself a mama’s boy, or all that weak-willed, but it seemed easier to just do as she asked than try and fight it out any further. He knew his mother would not give up until he relented.

“So give me the spiel, Ell,” Dean replied with a sigh, trailing just a bit behind her as they walked down a brightly lit hallway. It seemed like some strange cross between an office building and a hospital, with carpeted floors and fluorescent lighting interspersed between posters on sexual health and racks of pamphlets with titles like ‘Resisting the Rut’ and ‘Your Heat and You’.

The doctor smiled, and nudged Dean with her elbow as they walked. Having seen Dean and his younger brother grow up, Ellen was as proud of them both as she would have been if they were her own children. They had grown into fine young men, both spending their lives helping people, Dean as a social worker and Sam as a lawyer; of course, she knew Dean a little better, since she had been his primary physician since he was a teenager. It pained her as much as it did his mother, to see him still alone and unmated.

“Behind all the frills, we have a basic small medical center,” she told him as they continued their walk. “Exam rooms, pharmacy, even a couple of rooms for minor procedures. We’re generally practicing reproductive health here, but we can take on the usual bumps and bruises you see rolling into an ER every day.”

“Reproductive health, huh? So you really are catering to Alphas and Omegas,” Dean said, more or less thinking aloud. There weren’t many medical centers devoted to that side of life, unless they were specializing in Beta health only. It would definitely be a boon to his work, to have the Center’s information on file. He had only a handful of medical contacts that would help some of the worst cases that showed up on his desk. 

“We certainly won’t turn away a Beta in need of help,” Ellen replied, pausing to push open a set of double-doors so Dean could peer inside. It was a waiting room of sorts, comfortable chairs, a couple of small couches laid out in rows, with tables displaying a few outdated magazines and boxes of tissues. A windowed reception area was on one side of the room, with doors leading out to the street on the other. It was early enough in the day that the clinic had yet to open, so it was dimly lit and empty. Even though he couldn’t see the treatment area, the scent of disinfectant and the heady tang of alcohol hung in the air.

“But your main clientele are typically Alpha or Omega,” Dean filled in, and Ellen nodded.

“Most don’t realize the healthcare needs that go with the status,” Ellen told him. “Betas have no real idea of it, and even healthy Alphas and Omegas aren’t fully aware of the ramifications of when someone’s reproductive function is not… not…” she trailed off, searching for the right words. She knew Dean had never gone into heat, some fifteen years after they had first discovered that he had been born an Omega; she knew him as well as his mother, that he presented a tough exterior to cover up what was hurting, and didn’t want to say something that would add to that hurt.

“Not functioning?” he offered with half a smile. “Look, Ell, I’m surrounded by this stuff daily, ok? Every day, I’m getting cases of kids kicked out of the home for being the wrong status, of kids mated too young and forced into a bond, kids forced into a mating… I get it. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. No matter what my mom might’ve told you, I’m fine. Really.”

Ellen shook her head and with it gave a soft, sad little sigh. It was a shame, Dean’s problem. He would have made a good father, and a good mate. Of that much, she was sure.

“Not functioning,” she agreed. “First ruts and heats that come late in life are extraordinarily dangerous. So are the pent up frustration and hormonal overdrive that come with it. Those rages that musclebound morons hit when they’ve been abusing anabolic steroids pale in comparison to what could happen to a late rutting Alpha. And Omegas… well, we’ve discussed that already. I’m just trying to keep people safe, keep’em healthy.” 

Ellen sighed again and shook her head. She was paving new roads in the medical world with the Center, both with treatment research and just the kind of services they offered. Still, they were only one tiny refuge in a world full of people needing help. It could be overwhelming.

“Mom told me about Jo’s self-defense course,” Dean offered by way of changing the subject, as they continued their way down the corridor. 

“Surprised Jo didn’t tell you herself,” Ellen replied with a chuckle. “She’s real excited about it. It’s one of the enrichment services we’re putting together for our clients. Omegas need to know how to defend themselves. There are too many sleazebags out there ready to take advantage of a heat. We’re also doing anger management for the more volatile Alpha, couples counseling with a focus on easing the stress of an unusual status coupling, free daycare for single parents in need – that’s where you’ll be today, hanging out with the kids – and we have some safe rooms for those who need a place to stay during their monthly.”

“Jesus Ell, you went all out here, didn’t you?” Dean said, clearly awed. Ellen had talked now and again about opening a place like this, but it seemed more or less a pipe dream. Dean had only heard the occasional offhand comment from his parents or Jo, about the doctor applying for grants and soliciting donations to get the funding to get started, but he had never really considered it coming to fruition. It all just seemed too good to be true.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she told him with a pleased smile. “We’ve got ongoing research into contraceptives, heat and rut suppressants and stimulators, fertility treatment… all here on site. And if things go well, hopefully we can start up a fund to get a Center in every major city. It’ll be a long while, but it’s what we’re working towards.”

“Who’s we?” Dean asked curiously. It had all been Ellen’s brainchild, so far as he knew; he never even considered her recruiting others to join the cause.

“Got a full staff of the best doctors, nurses, and chemists I could wrangle,” Ellen explained. They rounded a corner on their walk and the environment changed, brightening a bit with children’s drawings and posters of kids and cartoon characters lining the walls. “I run most of the acute care, and Dr. Stevens heads up our research. We’ve got six regular physicians on-call, with another six in rotation, and a staff of eighteen regular nurses, plus a couple dozen on registry call. Jo’s doing some classes, that Braeden girl you all went to high school with, even Bobby is pitching in.” She paused and surveyed him a moment before adding, “Couldn’t hurt if we got a good lawyer and social worker on line in case we needed’em too.”

“Oh, is that right? I see how it is,” Dean teased the doctor, both chuckling in response to his words as they continued on their walk. “You just want me for my connections. Here I thought you were all hot for my body, wanted to make me a guinea pig in your labs.”

Ellen stopped and turned to him, pausing outside the door to the daycare center. Looking over the man before her, she still saw in her mind’s eye the rough and tumble little boy that had carried her daughter home from the playground with a skinned knee, and the worried and embarrassed teenager that had come to her for help so many years before.

“I’d put everything on hold here if you asked for my help, Dean,” she told him, a hint of sadness in her voice. It was a damn shame, what had happened to that boy; she couldn’t believe she had missed in his youth all the signs of a caretaking and nurturing Omega, and was saddened each time she thought of him spending his days alone. “All you have to do is say the word.”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed, and put on a show of rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know it,” he said, voice a little gruffer than usual. “Just lead me to the anklebiters, will ya? If I don’t stop by my mom, all covered in finger paint and smelling like Play-Doh, she’ll never believe I was here.”

Ellen shook her head with a small smile, pushing open the door that lead to the daycare center’s main room. Several heads turned their way and a few surprised voices called his name immediately: Ben, Lisa Braedan’s son, and Timmy, a little boy that Dean had placed with a foster home the summer prior when his mother had been killed in a car accident. Both ran to Dean, attaching themselves to his legs, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Ellen said nothing more, slipping silently back through the door she had opened, and leaving Dean to the children.

 

By one o’clock that afternoon, Dean was exhausted and had a raging headache. Taking care of Sam’s twins or even a neighbor’s kindergartener was nothing compared to a room full of hyperactive children, ranging ages from third grade to preschool, and one colicky infant thrown in for good measure. Dean had glitter in his hair and spit-up on his jeans by the time the children were corralled onto cots and cribs for nap time, and was in dire need of a break. One of the regular workers, a blonde named Amelia, had given him a smile and suggested he use nap time to grab some lunch and decompress. 

“You look a little worn around the edges, Dean,” she had said quietly.

He nodded in agreement. “I think that might be a good idea,” he relented with a small smile, and stood with a muted groan from the tiny child-size chair he had been sitting in. He stretched has back and patted his back pocket in a habitual gesture, ensuring he had his wallet, before giving Amelia a grateful smile and heading towards the door back into the corridors of the Center.

“I’ll be back before two,” he promised on his way out.


	4. Chapter 4

The small cafeteria was already crowded with employees and clientele of the Center alike, but that was no surprise to Dean. He had guessed it would be; it was the right time of day for it, after all, and he’d heard several remarks that morning from other Omegas working in the daycare that he just had to try the cheeseburgers. Still a little too worn out from a fairly busy morning, he slipped quickly through the cafeteria line and decided to take his meal and find someplace quiet to enjoy it.

He had forgotten, for a time, that the Center would most likely be teeming with both Omegas and Alphas alike; even though Dean had never experienced a heat, he had learned by experience that he would on occasion draw the attention of an Alpha. He had never had any further testing to find out why, but he had seen heads swivel in his direction every now and again, and his own instincts often detected the presence of an Alpha’s interest. It was a shame, he thought even now, that it was never something he had any inclination to reciprocate. A few sets of eyes followed him as he made his way towards the door, but they seemed to notice his disinterest and left it at that.

Slipping back into the corridor, Dean carried a cheeseburger and fries tucked neatly into a Styrofoam container and a cold can of soda, searching for some place quiet to take his meal. He had just rounded another corner, hoping to find an employee lounge or something similar, when he ran headlong into a slim sprightly woman with blonde hair tumbling in waves down her back. The can of soda in his hand fell and went rolling along as Dean used both hands to secure his meal, even while the blonde jumped up and threw her arms around his neck.

“Dean! You came!” she squealed, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

He chuckled, holding up his lunch to rescue it from any further damage, and struggled to free himself from the vice-like grip that Jo Harvelle had around his neck. He hadn’t realized quite how long it had been since they had seen each other until her overenthusiastic greeting reminded him that it had been more than the few weeks he had surmised, and had probably bordered into two or three months – quite a lot, for close friends living in a smallish town.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, calm yourself woman!” Dean responded, not even bothering to dodge the answering shoulder punch he knew was coming.

“What the hell, man? Why haven’t I seen you in forever?” she said, attitude switching from glee at their greeting to annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest. Jo was small in stature and slim, but had enough muscle on her to make the punch sting. She had waves of blonde hair and a teasing arch to her brow when she smiled, the slightest hint of a challenge in her brown eyes. 

 

Dean smiled at her, perhaps a little bit wistfully. There had been a time, not long after Charlie and Dot had went on their great adventure out into the world, when he and Jo saw each other almost daily. That had been a dark era for Jo, and she’d needed someone; Dean liked to think it was her faith in their friendship that so often led her to his door, and not just the fact that he was unattached and an available shoulder to cry on.

He was never quite sure who had proffered the idea, but somehow it had been spoken and became concrete between them. They were both getting older and neither had any real romantic prospects on the horizon; they’d known each other for years, knew they’d get along well, and there had always been that little hint of attraction between them, going back to years of playground rough and tumble play and aimless high school flirting. Maybe they should try it.

The idea was still up in the air when Jo woke one morning with a terrible ache in her jaw and ended up pulling a dentist’s name off the internet based on a proximity search. In a week’s time, she’d had her wisdom teeth removed, and a week after that, she was dating her dentist exclusively.

Dean had been happy for her, and he liked Garth well enough, but it still left this thing hanging in the air between them, the ghost of what might have been if they had acted on their seemingly random thought and not waited, testing the waters, waiting to see if a spark could grow. Dean knew that he wasn’t in love with Jo; he loved her, of course, in the way he loved all of the people he had drawn close to him and kept in his life over the years, but it never blossomed into much beyond that. It was just the strangeness of the thought of it, the idea of what Dean might have had if they’d made a move just a little bit sooner.

It bothered him more as Jo’s happiness, and her family, grew, much though he was loathe to admit it. He wished her all the happiness in the world, but to see it up close and personal on a regular basis made him feel a bit weary and lost.

He didn’t like to think about it much.

 

Dean realized after a beat that Jo was looking at him expectantly, and must have been talking during his unscheduled trip down memory lane. He opened his mouth to speak, suddenly embarrassed by having drifted off, and closed it again before saying a word. A hand crept to the back of his neck and he decided to hedge his bets.

He shrugged. “I don’t know…” he said uneasily.

“Oh come on!” Jo responded enthusiastically. “A lot of my Omegas a bitty little things, they could use a big muscley practice dummy! And they’d feel safe, knowing you’re an Omega, you know?”

Dean flushed, realizing what she had been asking. “I… uh… Jo, I don’t go around broadcasting my status, okay?” he said.

Immediately, Jo’s features softened. “I know, Dean,” she said quietly. “But this is a safe place, you know? No one will treat you any different because of it. Mom thinks it’ll be good for you, too. Can’t go around pretending to be someone else all the time.”

With a heavy sigh, Dean frowned. “I don’t pretend,” he replied. “I just don’t talk about it.”

Jo nodded. “Just think about it, Dean, okay? It would be good for you… and good for my students, too. Besides, if you came tonight, you could go to the lecture afterwards!”

The tension of the moment had passed, and Dean snorted. “Thanks, had enough of those getting my Master’s,” he replied.

Jo rolled her eyes. “This is different, dork,” she told him. “It’s all about truemates. Kali Sen and her mate are here to promote their book, and they’re doing kind of an information session for people.”

Dean couldn’t help himself; he outright laughed. “Truemates? Are you kidding me?” he said through his mirth. “Tell me you don’t believe in that crap, Jo.”

The petite blonde glared. “Of course I do,” she replied. “I’m bonded, Dean.”

“And you think Garth is your truemate?” he laughed in response.

Jo punched him in the shoulder again, this time hard enough to leave a bruise. “You’re an idiot, Dean Winchester,” she told him with a glare. With a frown, she shook her head. “Don’t you get it? Yeah, he’s a little different, off the wall… but we complement each other, you know? I collect knives, he collects sock puppets. We balance. That’s why it was never gonna work with Charlie, didn’t matter how much we tried. You can be different but you have to have the same wants and that’s how it is with me and Garth.”

“So, what, you just ran into the guy and you knew? That’s how it’s supposed to happen, right?” Dean asked her, the skepticism and mirth still clear in his voice and eyes. He had never believed in the idea of truemates, of a person finding their supposed perfect other half somewhere out in the world and knowing instantly what they had found. He had heard his parents, once in a great while, softly call the other ‘truemate’, in quiet moments he was sure that he and his brother were not meant to witness. And he had heard of others who had practically bonded on sight, but he chalked it all up to mating hormones.

Dean didn’t believe in fairy tales.

“I knew,” Jo told him. “The minute he walked into the exam room at his office, I knew. I just… you know, held off. Until my stitches were out and I wasn’t under anesthesia.”

Dean snorted. “So, you had this revelation while you were drugged?”

“He knew too, damn it, Dean!” Jo snapped, punching him again. He didn’t even attempt to flinch anymore; he knew Jo well enough to know she’d just hit harder. “But he’s a professional and I was a patient, so we waited until everything was cleared up. Stop laughing.”

“I’m not!” Dean said in his defense, free hand held up in a placating gesture. “I just… look, I’m happy you think you found your truemate or whatever, but I’m not buying it, okay? If that shit were real, they’d have found some medical basis or something.”

“And your parents?” Jo asked, hands on her hips. “They’re not truemates?”

“I’m sure they like to think they are,” Dean replied blandly.

Jo huffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, cos Alphas able to mate and bond and stay together for over thirty years, that’s completely normal. You’re in social work, man, you should know how rare that is. Truemates are real, Dean, you can’t deny that just because you haven’t found yours.”

If asked later, Dean would swear up and down that he didn’t wince at her words. He would swear on his family that he didn’t feel the subtle slice her words provided, didn’t go sullen and sad at the implication. If anyone asked, Dean Winchester would swear that he never, in his life, ever wished for a truemate.

But Jo had known him since they were both in diapers, and she saw the flicker of change in his expression, quick though he was to mask it, and immediately regretted her words.

“Dean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she began.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said quickly, plastering on a smile. “Look, I’ve only got about forty-five minutes left for lunch, do you know anywhere quiet I can eat this? My head’s pounding, I can’t deal with the cafeteria noise right now.”

Jo sighed. That was Dean all over: ignore, deflect, and deny, deny, deny. She glanced around the hallway, thinking of where there might be an open room, and pointed to a close door a few feet away. “Mom’s partner is out of town right now, you could probably use his office. He never locks it.”

Dean nodded, heading towards the door. “Thanks, Jo. I’ll let you know when I can swing by your class, ok?” he called, not even breaking stride as he scooped up his lost soda can.

“You better!” she called back, watching Dean disappear through the door she had pointed out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this chapter was deleted. Just restoring it.

Stepping inside the empty office, Dean was hit with a rush of clean and cool air that just made him sigh in relief. The room was dim, the blinds drawn and the lights out, and held the feeling of disuse, as though its usual occupant had been away for several days. The walls were lined with bookshelves, full of thick prestigious-looking tomes interspersed between by slim paperbacks and an occasional book titled like the pamphlets Dean had seen in the corridors. The carpet was thick and plush, colored a deep forest green, and the desk and furniture were all older styled dark wood, seeming something more out of a high end store than the standard fare to be found in office buildings and cubicles.

The desk itself was spotless, nary a family photograph or personal knickknack to be seen, save for a small glass bowl of somewhat dusty potpourri that didn’t seem to be giving off a scent. There wasn’t even a computer, though some cords remained, tucked neatly off to the side, as though a laptop had been removed and taken with the office’s occupant on their recent time away. All in all, it was a respite from the noise and bright fluorescent lights of the daycare room, and Dean was pleased that Jo had pointed it out to him.

He sunk into the desk chair with a sigh, settling into the quite that surrounded him. He had closed the door behind him when he entered and decided not to turn on the overhead light, content with the dim afternoon sunlight barely filtering in through the blinds, and took a few deep breaths to decompress. He loved kids, loved spending time with them, always had, but a couple dozen hyperactive children all at once could be a bit much for anyone. His nerves were wound up tight, even more so after his conversation with Jo, and it was nice to just sit and relax for a little while.

Dean rolled his neck on his shoulders and stretched his legs out beneath the desk, trying to work out any kinks in the muscle that he had developed spending his morning crouching low, kneeling, and even sitting on the floor or tiny chairs to be at a better vantage to interact with the kids. The quiet coolness of the room seemed to aid in his relaxation, even he rolled his wrists and stretched out his fingers, leaning back against the backrest of the chair and closing his eyes. The room smelled heavily of leather, most likely from the desk chair and the many heavy books lining the shelves, intermixed with something cool and clean from the air conditioning and the subtlest hint of cinnamon that made Dean open his eyes and cast a small smile at the dusty potpourri, which was apparently still doing its job. With such a peaceful place, it was a wonder that its usual occupant ever got any work done.

He decided to just take a few minutes more, embracing the solitude. Dean found himself very surprised when is phone began buzzing in his pocket, seemingly only minutes later. Glancing at the display, he saw several missed calls from the Center’s daycare. Much to his surprise, it hadn’t been mere minutes at all; he’d fallen asleep in the quiet office and been out for more than an hour. He gathered up his neglected lunch and hurried for the door, careful to wipe up any mess he could have left behind and close the door behind him, before rushing back to the daycare to spend out the rest of his day.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean didn’t go back to the Center for Jo’s class that night, or stay for the truemates lecture. He didn’t go back the following day, even when she called to invite him. Most of his Sunday was spent in bed with a pounding head, aching back, and mild fever. That much shouldn’t have surprised him; kids could carry all sorts of illnesses around, he knew, and it would be just his luck to have caught a bug after his first visit. It passed fairly quickly and he felt well enough Monday to go back to work, but his annoyance over the sudden illness stuck with him.

He didn’t go back to the Center the following week, when Jo called again, asking for him to come play training dummy for her self-defense students. Too much work, he claimed, bogged down in cases, and he had to babysit for Sammy’s kids that night anyway.

He didn’t go back when Garth sent an email, letting him know that he’d be hosting an information session on Alpha dental health and proper care of canine teeth, though he did send a few of his clients out to spend some time with the dentist. Dean knew that current sex ed didn’t teach about the mating bite, or an Alpha’s need to keep healthy teeth to ensure a healthy bite and proper scarring. It was a little outside of Dean’s depth on his own – after all, he was unmated, unbonded, and looking to stay that way – so it seemed best to send young Alphas to see an expert.

He didn’t spend another day at the daycare center, much to both his mother and Ellen’s chagrin, citing his need to “stay away from the little walking germ factories”, lest they infect him again and it affect his work. 

And he wasn’t going to go to Jo’s class when, persistent that she was, she asked him to attend yet again, more than a month later. He had no intention of agreeing, until his mother called later that same week to breathlessly announce that Ellen had asked that she and Dean’s father put together a short talk and sit for a question and answer session regarding the success of their Alpha-Alpha relationship. Dean could tell his mother was excited at the prospect and of course he had to be there, if nothing else than to be living breathing proof that relationships can stray from the status quo and still be happy and successful. Since Jo’s class would be meeting that evening after his parents’ session, Dean couldn’t make any more excuses, and decided to attend.

 

The morning program on unusual couplings was a big hit, to no one’s surprise. John and Mary Winchester were a friendly and engaging couple, and stayed long after the session’s intended ending to answer questions and reassure attendees who were struggling with acceptance of their own bonds that were being questioned. Dean was proud of his parents, and they way they patiently answered even the most invasive questions. He hadn’t needed to know any explicit details of his parents’ sex life, but it was nice to know they’d answer frankly even those uncomfortable questions, in hopes of helping others who might be struggling.

Time like these reminded Dean how lucky he was to have the family that he did, and proved his own compulsion to help people wasn’t just symptomatic of his Omega status, but rather a family trait.

His mother was pleased he had decided to stay on and join in on Jo’s Omega self-defense class, and told him so, punctuating her words with a loud smacking kiss to his cheek, drawing a blush from her eldest son.

“You have fun with Jo now, but be careful,” Mary had said, just as she had done when Dean was eight years old and running out into the summer sunshine to play tag and hide and seek with Jo and their friends. He smiled and shook his head at her, promising to swing by the family home in a day or so, and headed towards the Center’s gymnasium. Jo’s eyes lit up when she saw him enter, and she turned to grin at her students with her hands on her hips. 

“What did I tell you guys?” she said. “I promise you a real live crash test dummy, and now we got one. Everybody, come meet Dean. He’s an Omega and he’s gonna help us out. He’s gonna let you beat on him today.”

They were understandably cagey; Dean didn’t look like a stereotypical male Omega. He was tall and broad-shouldered where one would expected an Omega to be small and slim, muscular and brash in his smile and demeanor rather than quiet and reserved. A few of Jo’s students slunk back, eyeing him worriedly, while others came forward tentatively to scent him, searching for pheromones that could validate Jo’s words.

At the heart of things, it made Dean sad. So many Omegas, worried enough for their own well-being that they were taking a class to learn how best to defend themselves. Still so gun -shy around other people that even their trusted teacher’s word that she hadn’t brought in an Alpha had to be tested and confirmed before they could relax. Relax they did, after a long moment, and one by one they all came forward to ensure that Jo’s words had been true before they were ready to get back to class.

Jo instructed the Omegas to try out some of the moves she had taught them in turn, and after the fifth or sixth time Dean’s back hit the padded floor mats, he had to admit that his old friend was a very good teacher. The Omegas seemed cheered to see they could actively move and defend against a man of Dean’s size; he had thought he would need to be careful with them and hold back, but it was clear that Jo had been pulling out every trick in the book to get her students into shape. Before the session was over, Dean was already compiling a mental list of clients to send to the class in the future.

All in all it seemed a good experience, and Dean was saying goodbye to a few new friends he had made when an Omega who had hung back the longest during the class approached him. The man, Aaron, had been most suspicious of Dean when the class began, and surprised the other Omega when he threw his arms around Dean at their goodbye, hugging him tightly.

Dean smiled and promised to come back as they all filtered out, watching them go with fond eyes. Perhaps this aspect of the Center wasn’t all that bad after all. Jo approached him with a grin, tying her long hair back into a ponytail to get the warm tresses off her sweaty neck.

“Don’t even say it,” he warned, and Jo laughed.

“Told you it would be good for ya,” she said anyway. “Look, you got a great work out and you helped some people out, not bad for a Saturday, right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah yeah, you’re right, don’t push it,” he relented. “It was a good time. I’ll come back next week to help out, maybe get some of my clients signed up. Gotta admit, this Center is really going to help a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” Jo agreed with a smile, then suddenly went wide-eyed and snapped her fingers. “Oh! I almost forgot. Dude, I don’t know what you did in Doc Stevens’ office, but he’s been going around asking everybody who was using it while he was gone. Far as I know, no one else even went in. I told him you were just in there for like an hour to eat your lunch and everything. You might wanna go apologize for whatever damage you did.”

Dean frowned. “Damage? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even eat, just kind of passed out for a while and then left.”

“Did you leave your stinky leftovers in his trashcan or something?” Jo asked skeptically. “Or maybe drool on his desk in your sleep?”

With a glare, Dean shook his head. “No, Johanna Beth. I cleaned up after myself and I don’t drool in my sleep.”

Jo sniffed. “Well you better go see what’s up then. I’m not getting in trouble for whatever mess you left behind. He should be in his office now, go apologize or something. Mom was glad to get him on board with this place. Gotta make nice.”


	7. Chapter 7

It had been hell. It had literally been hell, for weeks. Castiel had returned from a trip to Boston, where he had been off securing additional funding for his labs and some gently used equipment from an occupational health clinic that was going out of business, and as soon as he stepped foot into his office, his world spun out of control.

His first day back had been crazy. He’d taken an early morning flight and gone straight to work, overseeing the transport arrangements for the new equipment to arrive later that week before dropping by the accounting and finance department to make arrangements for the transfer of new grant funds. After all of that, he did rounds at the clinic and was held up by an emergency case of an older Omega overdosed on heat suppressants, before he got to his afternoon appointment schedule. It wasn’t until well after five o’clock that evening that he made his way to his office, to file some paperwork, make a few phone calls, and just relax for a few moments before taking over evening duties in the clinic. And that was when everything got shot to hell.

The lights were out, the blinds drawn, just as he had left it. The door had been closed but unlocked, as he wanted to make sure that Ellen could get into his files if need be while he was away, and everything confidential was kept locked in the cabinet anyway. His chair was slightly askew and something fresh and sweet hung in the air; his initial thought was that someone had been in to clean while he was gone and sprayed some new cleaner or freshener in their wake, but after a moment, when the scent hit him full force, he realized what it was.

There was leather, but not like the leather of his books; instead it was the scent of the interior of a car on a hot day, the burst of hot leather that came when the door was opened and the first wave of freshness pushes past, thrusting the aroma of the seats and the dash back out into the air. Castiel wanted to close his eyes and bask in it.

There was something green, new herbs and spice, newly picked and still sticky with sap and oil, with a hint of citrus and just a touch of heat, a dash of something peppery and wonderful. It was cool where the leathery scent was warm, sweet and clean. It made his mouth water. 

Castiel didn’t even notice that he was shaking, or that he was drawn to his desk chair, pressing his face against the headrest and inhaling deeply, finding that aroma he had instantly begun to crave along with something salty and so wonderfully human. Never in his life had Castiel noticed a scent so strongly, never had he even turned his head at a passerby to catch another wave of the aromas coming off them. But this was different – it was perfect – it was Omega. And it was all over his office.

He had licked his lips and sunk into his chair, shivering now as his body temperature spiked and sent rivulets of sweat streaming down his face. With shaking hands, he texted Ellen and let her know he would be away a little longer, and that they needed to call a registry physician to handle the clinic that night. Castiel may have been a dysfunctional Alpha for all of his life, but he was a doctor, and he had grown up in a house full of Alpha brothers; he knew what a rut looked like. With any luck, he could get home before anyone noticed.

He kept a small emergency kit in his desk drawer, more for use if a patient needed it than anything, but it would come in handy for him this time. He pulled a pen injector out and jammed the needle into his thigh, not even caring as he punched a hole through his suit pants, thumbing the injector button with a sweaty, shaking hand. He let out a brief gasp at the feeling of a cocktail of hormones and sedatives coursing through him, arching gently in his chair before relaxing, closing his eyes to keep inhaling that wonderful scent. When his heart rate had calmed, he found two rut suppressant patches and slapped both on his neck, buttoning up the collar of his shirt as high as it would go in spite of his sweating, and hurried from the building to his car.

He didn’t stop to say goodbye to anyone, lest they notice the pheromones drifting off of him or the more than obvious arousal tenting his slacks.

The next thirty-six hours were spent at home, predominately in his bathtub, fighting off the urge to seek out some relief. A physician to the core, Castiel timed his pulse and made notes, pledging to himself to call an ambulance should he get into any trouble; a first full-blown rut in an adult could be dangerous, and it wouldn’t do anyone any good if he burned himself out. When it was through, he was exhausted and a little worse for wear, but went back to work with little fanfare.

He told no one what happened.

Ever since then, Castiel had been annoying the ever-loving hell out of every single person he could find at the Center, determined to find out just who it was that had been in his office while he was gone. It was maddening; the scent still hung in the air, after all of the time that had passed, and each day he went in he was forced to keep company with the ghost of an Omega who had spurred in him the first rut of his life.

 

Castiel Stevens had always been the odd one out in his family. He was the youngest child, born late in his parents’ lives, and had always been small and stunted. He hadn’t been breathing at birth, having arrived some two months premature, and had been tiny in comparison to his older brothers, all teenagers save middle-schooler Gabriel. Castiel had still been in diapers when his eldest brothers, fraternal twins Michael and Luc, had gone off to college. He hadn’t even reached kindergarten by the time Gabriel walked across the stage for his high school graduation.

When his own time came to tread those same boards, Castiel had at least grown taller than his brothers, and four years as a track star had filled out his frame with lean muscle. He was, like his brothers before him, designated an Alpha at birth, and had no shortage of available Omegas parading themselves past his family. The Stevens’ of South Carolina were a wealthy family well known for producing strong Alpha sons, after all; every family with an Omega son or daughter hoped for a match. They chalked it up to a wealthy family’s prerogative, that the youngest son was kept in boarding schools and private tutoring, kept out of the social circuit entirely. Perhaps the family wanted to choose his mate, they thought. Perhaps there was someone already planned.

No one ever realized that Castiel Stevens was kept out of public view as much as possible because, though born an Alpha just as his brothers had been, Castiel was born broken.

No ruts. None, ever, since the day he was born. He had scent; there were others who seemed somewhat drawn to it, even. But nothing and no one held his own attention in that way, and his basic Alpha instincts were never brought to bear.

Never, until that day in his office, and every day since. It was as though someone had flipped an on-switch; the world had come alive, his senses alight, his body craving the owner of the scent that had permeated his office and his life. 

For the first time, Castiel _wanted_. And it was driving him mad.

 

The scent in his office was fading, as he had long expected it would, but even that was hitting him with a gut-wrenching sensation of loss. Once it was gone, he’d have only the memory of it remaining, cold comfort for an Alpha first experiencing the twisted pain-pleasure of want and need that came with the discovery of a compatible mate. 

If he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, he could almost imagine how it must have been the first day, when his unknown visitor had left it behind in his wake. He could almost imagine it stronger, filling him with heat like a burst of sunshine. He could almost breathe it in again, fresh and new and so perfect. Almost. Almost.

Castiel’s eyes flew open and he sat up straight in his chair. There was a man standing in his doorway, an Omega… the most beautiful Omega that Castiel had ever seen, and he _wanted_.

 

Dean didn’t realize it, not immediately. It was a sensation so foreign that he couldn’t recognize it for what it was, not right away. He was warm, sweat on his brow, but he chalked it up to the aftermath of an unexpectedly good workout, and tried to cast a friendly smile to the doctor at his desk.

“Hey, Dr. Stevens? M’name’s Dean, I’m a friend of Dr. Harvelle’s, her daughter said you were looking for me.”

And what a doctor, at that. Jo had spoken of Dr. Stevens in only the barest most clinical terms, her mother’s partner, a gifted physician, blah blah blah. She hadn’t mentioned the heedful of artfully tousled dark hair, the wide set bright blue eyes, the lips so pink and perfect they just had to be wonderfully soft. He had a softly cleft chin and a strong jaw covered in dark stubble, and Dean would stake his life that the doctor’s large hands would be unnervingly gentle, that he’d press kisses and murmur soft words to soothe the ache of a mating bite.

That was the moment Dean realized, the same moment his knees buckled beneath him and he began tearing at his jacket, desperate to get cool air onto his skin. The doctor had begun moving from behind his desk and Dean clung to the doorframe, trying to fight every nerve in his body that was screaming at him to go forward, to go to the doctor, to go to his Alpha.

The Alpha rushed to his side, steadying Dean to keep him from falling forward, and Dean could see the other man’s hands trembling even as he held Dean up from hitting the floor. The beautiful scent that had lulled him into a peaceful sleep so long ago, leather and cool cleanliness and the spice of cinnamon, all roiling together in the air around the handsome Alpha, seemed to bring some clarity and Dean calmed.

“I think I’m having a heat,” he finally managed to say, gripping the doctor’s hands tightly, before he closed his eyes and slumped forward into a dead faint.


	8. Chapter 8

When Dean awoke, he was on fire. He was burning up; he could feel his skin cracking and peeling with the heat, could feel it coming off him in waves, setting the sheets alight with flame. His clothes were gone, replaced with a pair of thin cotton pants, and he writhed against a bed that was not his own. He was shaking, trembling so hard he was practically vibrating in place, and though there were sounds all around him, they seemed to be coming from far away.

“Dean? Dean, honey, are you with us?” a familiar voice called.

Soft hands pried open his eyes, a bright light being shined directly into his pupil, and he grimaced and batted it away.

“There you are. Can you hear me Dean? Do you know where you are?”

 

Dean frowned, sensing familiarity in the voice speaking to him, but unable to grasp it. The heat was driving him mad; he was certain there had to be a fire or flame nearby, though as hot as his body felt, it was still prickling with goosebumps as though a chill breeze kept passing through. He was oversensitive and aching, each hair follicle a tiny pin prick in his skin, and he felt empty and wanting at the core. It was if every lonely night he had ever passed had been compounded into a singular flood of longing and lust, and Dean didn’t think he could stand it.

“Alpha,” he muttered, tightening the sheet at his waist just to get some friction. “Need my Alpha, please, please Ellen, get my Alpha…”

Ellen. That was right. It was Ellen’s voice, it was her soft hand pushing sweaty locks of hair off of his forehead, it was her looking down at him with sadness in her eyes. She was wearing her lab coat and had a stethoscope hanging around her neck, a penlight still in her hand. She was in full on doctor mode, and that realization helped Dean to clear his mind just a bit.

He realized then that they weren’t alone in the room. There were two nurses there as well, one reaching to check his pulse and another attaching an electrode pad to his chest. The room was large and the steady hum of a vent on the wall above the bed made it clear it was pumping cooled air in as fast as it could. It looked almost like a hotel room, with a dresser and mirror against one wall and a door standing ajar that looked to lead to a bathroom. The centerpiece of the room was the bed, much larger than the queen mattress Dean had at home, dressed in soft thin sheets. When he moved, it seemed to crinkle, and he realized that the mattress itself must be vinyl rather than fabric, making it clear that Dean wasn’t in some strange hotel at all: he was in one of the safe rooms at Ellen’s Center.

He let out a low moan and pressed his face into a pillow, ignoring the hands of the nurse still attaching electrodes to his body. “Please, Elle,” he begged softly. “Please, get my Alpha, please…”

Ellen sighed and shook her head. “Dean, has this happened to you before? Have you felt anything like this? Maybe you had a cold, a fever?”

“Was sick,” Dean mumbled, eyes closing again. He tried to lick his lips, but they felt like sandpaper beneath his tongue and his mouth was dry and dusty. “After I was here, with the kids.”

“Sick like this, Dean?” Ellen pressed. 

“No,” he replied quickly, shaking his head against the pillow. “No, just… just a fever, headache… stupid shit, you know. Elle I’m so hot, I can’t stand it I’m so hot.”

“I know, sugar, we’re doing everything we can,” Ellen told him, sounding calm but slightly strained. “You’re presenting, Dean. You’re in heat. We’re going to help you through it best we can. Soon as we get you stable and you can get some rest, I’ll call your family and let them know what’s going on, okay?”

Dean released his grip on the thin sheets, reaching out with a sweaty palm to grab Ellen’s list. He opened his eyes, mossy green gone wild and glassy, and shook his head.  
“No,” he told her. “No, don’t… don’t call’em. Just let me get through this.”

 

It was so hard to focus, and his mind was going a mile a minute. Dean could recite Alpha and Omega facts as well as he could recite the alphabet – his work made it imperative that he kept up on these things – but he had never had to apply those rules to himself before. The basic medical factoids jumped out at him first: heats were an evolutionary hiccup to encourage mating in reluctant Omegas, their body temperatures climbed to the degree to make them frantic for relief, and that relief was only found in taking an Alpha mate. The mechanics of that relief, well… it was something Dean hadn’t read too much on. He knew there was an enzyme that an Alpha would produce, but only when engaged in the mating act with an Omega, and only in response to that Alpha’s own pheromones. He knew the enzyme had to be absorbed by the Omega during the mating act, and it would lessen the symptoms of the heat for a time.

But Dean had never mated, not that way, not with an Alpha. He had never wanted it. Until now.

“My Alpha. Elle, please, get my Alpha, tell him, tell him I need him,” he whined, practically begging. The desperation was thick in his voice but he was too far gone to care. 

The doctor’s brow knit in confusion. “You have an Alpha, Dean? Who is it? Who should we call? You can’t be mated, not now, not this time, but your Alpha’s presence might help to calm you somewhat. Who should I call?”

Dean gave a low hysterical laugh. “I don’t know!” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t know his name. The doctor. Jo sent me to him, please, need him, need him Elle, please call him, he’ll come for me, I know he will.” Ellen’s mouth was open in surprise, and she seemed to be struggling for a response. Dean wanted to explain, but he couldn’t find the words as another wave of the miserable heat rolled over him, sending him shuddering and grinding into his sheets. Some part of his mind knew that this would be beyond embarrassing once his mind cleared, but for now all he wanted was some relief. 

Dean groaned and tried to think. Tried to remember what he needed to tell her. That he had met his mate. That he knew it, had never been more certain, that this man was his mate. His truemate. His Alpha. That he needed him now, needed his Alpha, to make this misery go away. 

The doctor turned to one of her nurses and called her over quietly. “Go and get me Dr. Stevens’ shirt, please. It should be in the laundry hamper outside of his safe room.”

The nurse cocked a quizzical eyebrow, but hurried out of the room as she was told. Ellen attached wires to each electrode that had been pressed to Dean’s skin, drawing them back to a small handheld electronic unit that she placed in a Velcro strap around his bicep.

“This is going to monitor your heart rate and temperature for us, Dean, so we can give you some privacy,” she explained in a low, soothing voice. “It’s going to transmit everything to us out at the nurse’s station, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Please, Ellen, my Alpha,” Dean muttered, shaking his head.

The doctor sighed. “I know, honey, I know. I’ve been there. But it’s too dangerous for you now. I warned you that a first heat like this could be unhealthy. We’ve got to be sure you won’t burn yourself out, you can’t take a mate. It’s just not safe.”

“I won’t, I promise, I won’t, just bring him to me, please, I just need him here,” Dean begged. He hated this. He hated himself for it. He was a simpering, groveling mess, and he couldn’t help it. All he wanted was his Alpha, and he would beg and plead until his lips cracked and bled.

The nurse Ellen had sent away returned with a crumpled white dress shirt, holding it at arm’s length before handing it off to the doctor. Ellen responded by quickly offering it to Dean, who snatched it up in an instant and cradled it to his chest, burying his face against the soft fabric to take in his Alpha’s sent. 

Ellen sighed and sat up, gesturing for both nurses to leave the room with her. “I need to talk to Dr. Stevens, is he decent?” Dean heard her say as she walked out the door, closing it behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel was sitting at the head of the bed in his safe room, pillows propped up behind his back. Like Dean, he was dressed in standard issue Center pajamas for men, thin cotton pants with a drawstring at the waist. Most who stayed in the safe rooms ended up stripping out of the clothing the Center provided, but they at least made an effort for those who tried to hold on to their modesty.

As Ellen knocked and opened the door, Castiel sighed and lazily played with the drawstrings on his pants. His head lolled gently to one side to shift his gaze to the door and watch her come in. The fact that the straight-laced Alpha doctor could be so casually blasé about his undressed state was enough to tell Ellen that he had been heavily sedated, though the rut suppressant patches on his neck and the capped IV in his right hand also argued the point. He smiled at her when she entered and sighed again before gesturing to the right of his bed.

“Gang’s all here,” he drawled, gesturing towards a chair tucked alongside his bed that Ellen hadn’t even noticed when she walked in. 

“Hey mom,” Jo called cheerfully from her perch, drawing a frown from the entering doctor.

“Miss Joanna Beth has been keepin’ me company these last few hours,” Castiel explained with a slow smile, lolling his head again to follow Ellen as she made her way to his bedside. “Don’t know that we’ve ever had this much time to chat before, have we Jo?”

The younger woman giggled; she couldn’t help herself. She had easily noted that her mother’s partner was a very attractive Alpha – it was impossible not to – but he had always been quietly polite and generally withdrawn. Seeing him now, basking in endorphins and other rut hormones with the more bothersome aspects of his cycle dampened by sedatives, was like seeing a whole new man. He was relaxed and open, blue eyes bright and interested, a permanent half-smile dancing on his features. The voice was the best part, Jo had decided; Castiel had a low voice, raspy and dangerous before morning coffee and often sedate, with an inconspicuously flat accent that seemed at odds with a heritage from a lauded southern family. She realized he had tamping down his native way of speaking for about as long as she had known him, but Jo understood that; she had a pronounced Midwestern accent of her own that she tended to soften when speaking to new clients. So to hear Castiel now, so relaxed and chatty, and speaking with that voice of his in a slow southern drawl, was enough to make anyone blush.

“No, we haven’t,” she agreed on the breath of her giggle, ignoring the stern look from her mother. She turned and faced the older woman fully, a reassuring smile on her face. “Castiel just wanted someone to talk to, is all. He’s getting regular doses of suppressants and is real relaxed, nothing to worry about.”

“At this point I doubt anyone will have to worry about me,” Castiel added with a slow sigh. His smile had gone wistful, and he shook his head, dark hair gone ruffled and messy from being pressed against his pillows. “Sure as hell never set on getting’ all riled up over an Omega I never even met, but at this point I think that’s all that’ll do it.”

Dr. Harvelle walked slowly, pulling another chair from the side of the room and setting it along Castiel’s bedside. Her eyes were narrowed and she regarded him carefully for a long moment before taking a seat beside her daughter. 

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Castiel snorted, running his hand through his hair. “C’mon Ellen, I may be drugged up six ways from Sunday but I’m not stupid. I had a brief rut as a reaction to the Omega scent left in my office a while back, and went into full-blown rut from meeting that same Omega head on. You know I started workin’ with you half-based on my own dysfunction, you think I wouldn’t recognize what this is? I’m Alpha-reactant to a specific Omega, s’all.”

“I had noticed that,” Ellen agreed, voice guarded. The truth was, she suspected Dean was having much the same reaction. Were it anyone but a trusted colleague and a man she counted about as important to her as her own flesh and blood, she’d be dreaming of studies and journal articles to come. Now her mind was only on their safety.

“Just my luck it’d be someone already mated,” Castiel said with a small, sad sigh.

Jo arched an eyebrow. “Already mated?” she asked.

“Christ, did you even see him?” Castiel replied, head lolling to the side again to better face the younger woman. “I mean, fucksake, even if he didn’t set my motor runnin’ like this, I’d be askin’ for his number, broken Alpha and all.”

Jo giggled again. The free and easy way he was speaking, combined with his words about her very good friend, were something right out of a high school drama. She almost felt like she should be passing notes back and forth between the doctor and Dean.

“Castiel, Dean isn’t mated!” she said with a laugh. “Hell, I don’t think he’s even dating anyone, and this is his first heat.”

 

Suddenly, the lax and lazy attitude slipped from the doctor in the bed and he struggled to sit up straighter, eyes narrowing and turning towards Ellen.

“Is this true?” he asked. “Is it the Omega – Dean – is it his first heat?” he asked. He couldn’t mask the worry creeping into his voice. Rut or not, Castiel was a doctor first, and he was all too well aware of the implications of a late heat. 

Ellen nodded gravely. “Dean started volunteering here not long ago. I’ve been trying to get him in for treatment, or at least a check-up. From what he’s managed to tell me, sounds like he went through a little pre-heat after encountering your scent last time he was here. This’d be his first full-blown heat.”

Castiel rubbed at his eyes, forcing himself to take several deep breaths to clear his head. When he returned his gaze to Ellen, his eyes looked a little more focused.  
“What are his vitals like?” he asked.

Ellen pursed her lips and paused before responding. In one respect, she would simply be sharing information on a patient with another doctor, almost as though for a consult. But on the other hand, she’d be giving protected personal information about one patient to another. In the end, her concern for Dean won out over anything else.

“Unstable,” she told him. “He’s been all over the charts, temp spiking the then dropping, pulse rate going erratic. Puls-ox hovering around 96. Sometimes he’s verbal, sometimes he’s not. He was knocked out cold for a good while there.”

Castiel licked his lips and nodded. “But he’s conscious now?” he asked.

“He is,” Ellen agreed. “But I’m concerned that if we can’t get him to stabilize, he’s going to stroke out. We’ve got him on a full course of meds but nothing is taking hold. The heat came on quickly and nothing we have can affect if it’s not preemptive. The only thing I can think to try at this point is—”

“Comfort therapy,” Castiel filled in, standing up so quickly that he swayed on his feet for a moment before righting himself. He seemed to take note of his appearance for the first time, barefoot and bare-chested, and began looking around the room for something to change into.

“Admittedly I’m not at my best just now, but he’s my… if he triggered me, and I him, I should be able to calm him on scent and touch alone,” Castiel rambled, speaking aloud. He found a pare of Center-issue slippers tucked into a small closet in the corner of the room and a thin robe, but frowned. “Ellen, where are my clothes? I don’t remember… I don’t even remember coming in here, to be honest.”

“You sweat through your suit,” Jo called out after him. “They practically had to strap you down to get you out of it. Should be down in the laundry by now.”

Castiel closed his eyes, cheeks managing to color slightly, even through the ever-present rut flush. “Thanks for that, Jo,” he said, shaking his head.

She laughed. “Better than poor Dean, man. He’s going to be so embarrassed when he comes out of this, I almost wish I’d snapped a few photos on my phone.”

“Joanna Beth, this is nothing to laugh at,” her mother snapped. “Your friend is in very bad shape right now, I expect you to have some respect for what I do here and at the least worry over him.”

Jo shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “I expect you’d have put my friend and your partner in the same room already so they can both get this out of their systems, but you’re the one dragging ass here. It’s obvious to pretty much everyone here what’s going on.”

“If I could interject – Ellen, what room is Dean in?” Castiel asked.

Ellen turned towards him abruptly. “Look… Dr. Stevens… Castiel, I know that you think you feel very strongly for Dean right now, but…”

“I don’t think anything, Ellen. I’m in a rut, that he caused. He is an Omega in a late heat, which I apparently triggered. He needs me to help him through this. Anything beyond that, we can discuss after all of this is over and he’s out of danger,” Castiel responded quickly.

“An Omega in late heat cannot take a mate, Castiel,” Ellen replied sternly. “I just told you, he’s in danger of stroking out. Engaging in—”

“I have no intention of mating with a partner incapable of giving appropriate consent,” Castiel snapped, voice taking on a bristling authoritative tone. “As it is, I am so doped up right now that I probably couldn’t get it up or pop a knot if I even wanted to. All I know right now is that he needs me, and I need to be there. Now where is he?”

Before Ellen could respond, the door opened after a hurried knock. One of the nurses that had been helping Ellen with Dean poked her head in, blushing slightly at seeing Dr. Stevens in his undressed state.

“Dr. Harvelle,” she spoke, casting eyes to the floor as embarrassment and the quiet response of her own Omega hormones heated her cheeks. “The patient in room four… he’s going tachy.”

Ellen shook her head and sighed. “I suppose it’s out of my hands now,” she said quietly, then turned towards the nurse. “Take Dr. Stevens to room four. He’ll be attending to the patient for the duration of his heat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, guys! Had to go out of town for a couple of weeks, sorry about the delay :)


	10. Chapter 10

Dean was floating. Floundering. Part of his mind knew he was at the Center, knew he was tucked away in a safe room to ride out this dreadful day. But part of him was gone, whisked away and drowning in the ebb and tide of his heat. The shirt that Ellen had given him, saturated in the wonderful scent of his Alpha, seemed to help, at first, but his heat-heightened senses soon told him that the Alpha scent was hours old and growing more and more stale by the moment. 

Each time a new rush of heat-fueled trembling crashed over him, Dean would curse and swear into his pillow with a tired, slurred voice. He knew his Alpha was near, knew the man would come to him if only someone would tell him. Dean wanted to get up and find him but he never seemed to find his footing, always overcome by a rush of heat and sweat and need that would leave him shaking, unable to stand or do much anything but press himself against the mattress and whimper.

He felt his mind slip further away, body burning so badly that he needed to free himself. There were voices in the hall outside of the room and a high-pitched beeping noise he feared, somewhere in the barest edge of his thoughts, was coming from the monitor that Ellen had attached to his arm hours before. None of it mattered; all Dean knew was that he was broken and alone, his Alpha close but too far away to make it better. He inwardly wondered if he would die like this, twisted and sweating and pining away for a man whose name he had never learned.

In his right mind, Dean might have laughed at his predicament. All of his life, ever since he had found out what he really was, Dean had avoided everything that held any inkling of Omega. He dated, but never Alphas; he hadn’t even passed many looks at other men, keeping his dating pool set only with Beta women who would never sniff out the truth of his status. Beyond his own fervent denial of his own biology, Dean was never anything but kind to other Omegas, fighting for them as a cog in the social system that too often made them victims of their own bodies. He pretended to be something else, and all but pitied those like him.

To find himself now, writhing and whining like the worst of Omega stereotypes, was laughable. Knowing it might kill him? Somehow even funnier.

He chuckled bitterly into his pillow, raising the stale shirt to his face once again, hoping to get one last euphoric hit of the Alpha’s scent before he let himself drift again. He was lost in his misery, too desperate and too miserable to note anything but the barest hints of sound around him, when he realized the scent wasn’t stale any longer.

 

“Dean,” a voice spoke quietly, and it was perfect.

It was _perfect_. Everything about it was wonderful, the tone and the cadence and even the rasp of breath on that single world, just perfection. The air around him was rapidly becoming scented with the intoxicating aroma of arouse Alpha, and not just any Alpha: his Alpha. For the first time in hours, Dean opened his eyes, blinking in the softened lighting that seemed blazingly bright to his unaccustomed eyes. He turned over on his back and glanced up at the man standing at his bedside.

He was tall, perhaps more so than Dean had imagined, but with their relative positions Dean thought his mind could easily be playing tricks on him. The beautiful eyes staring down at him were bright and blue, at least so much as Dean could see with the darkened pupil nearly eclipsing the iris. His cheeks were flushed and he was biting his lip, the two white medication patches standing out against the ruddy skin of his throat as he gazed down at Dean.

“Dean,” he said again. “Can… can I touch you?”

Dean could barely get out his response, letting loose a low moan and reached out his hands towards the Alpha, who slipped easily onto the sheets beside him. Dean didn’t care that his body was slick with sweat, or that he felt a sudden rush of dampness down the backs of his thighs as the Alpha curled around him. He didn’t care that he felt like he was burning, or that he was mumbling nonsensical praises of the man at his back. All he cared about was the blissful heat of skin on skin, his back cradled against the strong chest of his Alpha, the strong palm ghosting across his abdomen, and the breath against his ear.

“Dean, my name is Castiel,” the man said, voiced pitched even lower as he whispered. “I’m here to give you some comfort, but it doesn’t have to be me if you don’t want it to be. There’s another Omega here, suffering her heat alone. The two of you together might find some relief.”

Dean’s sweaty palm curled around the Alpha’s hand resting against his stomach. “No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Stay, please. Please Alpha… Cas… stay with me.”

The man slotted behind him swallowed hard and shuddered, embrace becoming just that little bit tighter at Dean’s words.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he admitted. “I’ll stay… I’ll stay with you, baby… but we can’t… you know, we can’t…”

Dean nodded against his pillow. “Ellen said,” he replied. “S’why I wsas staying. Can’t… can’t just find someone to… but you’re here now. S’okay now. Stay with you, just as good.”

 

He turned in the Alpha’s embrace, moving to tuck his face against the other man’s shoulder, breathing deeply the scent that had once calmed him enough to lull him to sleep and closing his eyes once again. He was shaking, trembling in Castiel’s arms, and the Alpha responded by only tightening his embrace and letting his own eyes fall shut with a softly pleased sigh, his hand running up and down Dean’s back.

“I was looking for you,” Dean whispered softly. “I was looking for you for so long.”

Castiel held him even closer. “Well now I’ve found you,” he replied.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a little past one in the morning as Ellen stood in the safe room area’s nursing station, Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee clutched in one hand, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were glued to a pair of monitors, each marked with a sticky note bearing the safe room number and a name. Dean’s heartrate had been rising rapidly all evening, only to drop at the seeming last moment and then resume its climb. Castiel’s had been better, by virtue of the sedatives he had been given, but not by much.

And then something strange had happened.

Not wanting to intrude on what could be a very important private moment for both men, Ellen had retreated to the nurse’s station once Castiel had been re-dosed with downers, wired up with a monitor, and given a quick checkup before being allowed to enter Dean’s safe room. Once an aural affirmation of Dean’s request for him to stay had been heard, Ellen had ordered the door closed and returned to her vigil at the monitors.

Much to her concern, Dean’s pulse had been climbing to critical levels again, and she had been about to intervene with the defibrillator, to try and shock his heart into a normal rhythm and let the beta-blockers they had been injecting him with keep it there, when she saw something amazing on the monitors: Dean’s pulse began to drop.

It moved slowly, creeping ever downwards, reaching towards an almost normal rhythm. Ellen’s jaw dropped open in surprise, noting the same phenomenon happening with the numbers on the monitor beside Dean’s, the one showing Castiel’s vitals. Each pulse dropped, wavering, until the numbers from screen to screen were identical, and the peaks and valleys on each EKG reading were exactly the same.

Sidling up beside her, Jo grinned. “See?” she said triumphantly. “I told you!”

“Jo, you are breaking all sorts of laws just standing here, you want to tone your voice down a little?” Ellen replied in a hurried whisper. The two nurses staffing the station raised their eyebrows but said nothing; they were used to the director’s daughter creeping in on things she really shouldn’t.

“I told you!” Jo repeated in a hissed whisper. “What did I say? They’d even each other out. They’re truemates, mom. You have medical-fuckin-proof of it!”

Ellen sighed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she warned. “I’m still uncomfortable with this. Dr. Stevens is a good man, but he’s in rut, and…” Ellen trailed off with a sigh. She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced at the overly bitter taste; they’d need to get a new machine one of these days. “We’ll see how this goes,” she finally relented.

Jo snorted. “Don’t worry. I told him if he lays one unwanted finger on Dean, hurts him at all, I’ll rip off his knot and nail it to the gym wall.”

Ellen hid a small smile behind her coffee cup. “Colorful. I just told him I’d keep it in a jar on my desk.”

 

They kept up Castiel’s sedatives at a steady rate, though at some point in the evening he had pulled the suppressant patches off of his skin and not allowed them to be replaced. When the nurses made three o’clock rounds that morning, Castiel lifted his head from the pillow beside Dean’s and growled low in his throat at the intrusion. 

“I’m just here to administer your dopamine and fentanyl,” the nurse said cautiously, moving forward at a slow rate and showing him the two capped syringes in her hand.

Castiel watched her with narrowed eyes for a moment before grunting in response and curling himself back around his Omega, holding out the hand with a capped IV attached for the nurse to reach. Dean had rolled back onto his side, back nestled against Castiel’s chest, and was slumbering lightly while the other man received his medications. Castiel winced slightly at the burn of the medications pressed into his veins and the follow up saline flush to clear the tubing before the IV was capped and the nurse went on her way. His mind was fuzzy but he knew that the nurse meant no harm to him or his Omega; it didn’t mean, however, that he had to like the constant poking and prodding.

“They gonna keep coming in like that?” Dean mumbled, turning in Castiel’s arms to face him once again.

Castiel cast drowsy eyes towards his Omega. “Hey, you’re up,” he said with a lazy smile.

Dean yawned. “Few minutes now,” he replied, and snuggled his body closer to Castiel’s with a soft sigh. “Think it’s going to crest again soon.”

“What do you need?” Castiel asked. The first crest of heat had calmed when Castiel had arrived and wrapped himself around Dean; the hormones he was putting off seemed to sate the first major rush of the Omega’s heat well enough that Dean had managed to get through it with relative calm. If it was cresting again, it meant that just being there wouldn’t be enough.

Dean took a shuddering breath and licked his lips before replying. “Talk to me,” he said, eyes already half-closed and new beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Just talk to me.” He let his eyes fall closed and buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck even as the first trembles began to run along his spine.

Rubbing circles into Dean’s bare back, Castiel let his own eyes close. The scent hitting the air was intoxicating, and Castiel knew that if not for the heavy sedation, it would be all but painful to try and control himself. Even now, his body ached with need

“What should I talk about, Dean?” he asked, and Dean shivered, feeling the rumble of the words against his own chest as Castiel spoke.

“Anything,” Dean murmured, pressing soft kisses against the juncture of Castiel’s neck and shoulder. “Anything, Cas, please… just need your voice, need it…”

Castiel shivered. Sedatives or not, his body was reacting to the touch and scent, to having his mate pressed so close, body warm and wanting. He swallowed hard and bit his lip, waiting a long moment to regain control before speaking.


	12. Chapter 12

When Castiel had woken up that morning, he’d had a fair idea of where his day would take him. He had planned on spending most of the day in the labs, as he didn’t have any appointments to take and Ellen and a new physician to the practice, Pamela Barnes, were covering the clinic for most of the day. He’d been working with his research staff on isolating a specific genetic flaw, one that caused some female Omegas to have extended gestation periods, and wanted to spend most of his time on that particular lead. He had hoped once they were able to find a marker specific to Omega females, it would lead to an easier way of identifying traits relegated to specific sexes and statuses.

At his lunch break, he had planned to call his brother Gabriel. Castiel had been out of town during the truemates lecture that had been hosted by Gabriel’s mate, and had missed seeing them while they were in town. He had hoped to arrange a weekend that he could spend in New York, perhaps at Gabriel’s next gallery show; Castiel had been somewhat surprised when Gabriel had given up a hefty paycheck as an advertising executive to work instead on his passion as a modern art sculptor, but he had quickly made a name for himself and Castiel had to admit, his older brother had a talent that no one had expected. His penchant for over the top practical jokes as a teen had translated well into his artwork, which was often described as ‘tangible chaos’.

After lunch, Castiel had thought he could pop into the clinic for just a moment, just in case. He had learned early on that Ellen was not much one for asking for help, so it never hurt to stop buy and offer it instead. Then, if he wasn’t needed, he’d check his email for lab results on a few more critical patients, phone them and schedule appointments if necessary, and then go back to his own lab for more genetics work.

Of course, that wasn’t how it went at all, and instead he found himself cradling his Omega in his arms and telling the man all of this, all of what he thought his day would be, and how much better it had turned out.

 

Dean chuckled in spite of the way his body shook with the rise of his heat, pressed tightly against Castiel’s chest, as the other man had stretched out on his back. “This is better?” he asked, near breathless. “Wrapped around some sweaty guy you don’t even know?”

“Wrapped around my mate,” Castiel corrected softly, giving warm wet little kisses along Dean’s jaw line and causing the other man to sigh. He knew he shouldn’t; being this tactile, this close, it was probably all wrong. Both he and Dean were compromised, after all. But he couldn’t help himself, drawn ever closer by every shared breath they took. “Besides, you know, Jo told me all about you earlier tonight.”

Even as out of sorts as he was, Dean knew enough to groan in response. “That can’t be good,” he grumbled, words flattening out with a short gasp as a red hot spike of intense need shot through him. It was worse than before, more difficult to ignore now, particularly with his mate so close and smelling so wonderful. He buried his face into the nape of Castiel’s neck, taking deep gulping breaths as if trying to consume his very essence.

For his part, Castiel remained steady, much though the sultry scent of Dean’s arousal spiced the air around them. He ran his fingers through Dean’s sweat damp hair and squeezed his own eyes shut, trying to will away the physical attempts his body was making at reciprocating the utter lust-scent in the air.

He chuckled softly. “All good things, believe me,” he reassured. Dean was still trembling against him but had started making subtle movements with his body, hips stopping just short of a pressure Castiel both wanted and wanted to avoid. It was maddening.

“She told me about… ah… your family,” he went on, hoping his words would provide as much a distraction for himself as for Dean. “Your parents. They gave a lecture here today… well, it would be yesterday now, wouldn’t it? I didn’t catch it, I’m afraid, but... I would have liked to. Perhaps next time.”

“Mmhmm,” Dean agreed mildly. He was mouthing against Castiel’s throat, the doctor’s eyelashes fluttering at the sensation, hands sliding down Dean to rest just along his lower back. He felt the muscles move and contract beneath the skin, Dean arching just slightly into the touch, and Castiel shivered.

“She told me you volunteered here, in the daycare… how the kids loved you,” Castiel went on. The words were becoming more and more difficult to get out; Dean had shifted himself, moving from being draped over Castiel’s chest to resting his body atop his Alpha, knees planted against the mattress, one tucked firmly between Castiel’s thighs. He continued moving, rocking himself not subtly against Castiel.

“Dean,” Castiel warned, pausing to bite his lip a moment when the friction began to overwhelm him. “Dean… we… you know we can’t, can’t do this, not now,” he panted out. He had foregone his rut patches hours before, knowing his pheromones were his best bet for keeping Dean calm, and knowing the patches would only stifle them. He had thought the sedatives would be enough and they had been, so long as he only held Dean close. This, however, was a lot more difficult to resist.

“Just need this, Cas, please,” Dean whined, hips taking up a subtle rhythm as he ground his body against his Alpha. “Feels good, feels so good, Alpha.”

The logical part of Castiel’s mind was swiftly fading, locking itself away and leaving him only with a mess of jumbled thoughts and blatant overwhelming need. Without thinking, he grabbed Dean by the scruff off his neck and pulled him from where he had been sucking an impressive mark into the skin of Castiel’s throat, dragging him into a rough kiss.

They hadn’t kissed, not like this, not yet. There had been touches, lips pressed to feverish skin, mouths trailed along cheekbones and foreheads and collarbones, but they hadn’t kissed like this. Thinking back on it, Castiel would say it felt something like breaking into pieces and being put back together again, like coming to life and taking his first glorious breath. Dean’s lips were soft and supple, no shyness or hesitance in him as he gave himself over completely to the kiss, taking control in a way that Castiel never would have expected. He nibbled at Castiel’s plush lips, moaned into his mouth and sucked at his tongue, sending little sparks of pleasure plummeting to Castiel’s belly. Dean continued the slow grind of his hips, drawing gasps and whimpers from his Alpha and letting loose a few wanton gasps of his own.

“Never… never felt this before,” Dean mumbled, lips shiny and spit-slick and so terribly inviting that Castiel had to capture them again, just for a moment. When another dirty grind of Dean’s arousal against his own had him throwing back his head and letting out a whine, Dean smiled down at him. “Never wanted like this, Cas, never. God, what you do to me…”

Castiel was panting, hands reaching to touch any part of Dean that he could: his back, his arms, his hair, anything within his grasp. Omega or not, Dean was running the show, and Castiel found that he loved it. He was close, sweat dripping down his face with every rough rock of Dean’s body against his own, and told the Omega so. Dean chuckled softly and kissed him again, hard and hot and perfect, and Castiel let go. He came with a curse falling from his lips and swallowed back by Dean, whose own cry echoed against Castiel’s as surely as his body shuddered in time with the Alpha’s. Dean collapsed against him and they panted, hands gripped together against the sheets, waiting to catch their breath.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me - having a bit of a block lately!

When they woke again, it was sometime in the early afternoon. There were no windows in the safe room, nothing to link them to the outside world, but even without it, they could each feel the aura of midday about them.

“I bought you a house,” Castiel said suddenly. He was sprawled against Dean’s chest, the Omega having shifted onto his back sometime during their slumber, and he spoke the words just against Dean’s ear.

Dean shivered slightly at the feeling of his Alpha’s breath tickling his tender skin. “Mmm?” he asked, too warm and comfortable to even open his eyes and respond properly. He felt more relaxed than he could recall being in a very long time, in spite of his slowly surging heat. He reached an arm up and began rubbing slow circles into Castiel’s back, earning an appreciative groan. “Whatcha say, Cas?” he asked, and rolled his shoulder against the mattress to get more comfortable.

“It’s crazy. I know it’s crazy, but I…” Castiel muttered, lips still tickling against Dean’s ear as he spoke. “I just saw it. A few days after I encountered your scent. And I knew, Dean. I knew it was ours.”

 

The presentation of a bower house was an antiquated custom among the Alpha and Omega communities, one that stemmed back centuries but seemed to reach its peak during the Victorian age. Before an Alpha could claim an Omega, social law declared that a bower house be prepared; it was meant to signify the Alpha’s pledge to care for their Omega, as well as prove that they could provide for any offspring. Already awash in useless decoration and frivolous displays of social convention, the people of the Victorian era seized upon the idea and went wild.

The house that Castiel had purchased was from that era, and he could tell just from the design that it had been a bower house; the ornamentation was full of cherubs, grapes, fronds of rice, and even the late interpretation of the Green Man, all fertility symbols that were incorporated into most bower house designs. He had been driving when he spotted it, nearly getting rear-ended by the car traveling behind him when he stopped short, slamming on the brakes. There had been some rude gestures and horn-honking to follow, but Castiel had ignored it, pulling into the driveway of the home next door and wandering over towards the bower house, almost as though he were in a trance.

The door had been open, the sounds of hammering and a power drill filtering out into the afternoon. It had taken only a moment for Castiel to encounter the owner, a gruff local man who he knew from some electrical work he’d been contracted to do at the Center. A short chat and Castiel was on his way to his bank to draw a cashier’s check to purchase the home from the man who had bought it exclusively to renovate, Bobby Singer.

“Bobby?” Dean echoed as Castiel told his tale. “You bought the house from Bobby?” 

 

Dean knew the house; it was less than a block away from his own apartment. He had spotted it himself and hoped to find the time and finances to take on the renovation, strip away cracked and peeling yellow paint and bring out the glory of the old place, before some snot-nosed yuppie contractor bought the lot to tear it down and build more of the sterile modern design three-flat apartment buildings, like the one Dean lived in. When push came to shove, he knew he would never have the time or the money to take on such a grand project, but he knew his old family friend was always looking for something to do with his hands.

Bobby Singer had been a member of Dean’s adopted extended family for about as long as he could remember. He and Dean’s father had been buddies in the service, and settled in the same town when they came back from the war. That had always been the Winchester way: once you made a friend, you kept them, come hell or high water. Bobby had been a surrogate uncle to Sam and Dean all their lives, and Dean knew that since his wife had pushed Bobby to retire, the older man needed projects here and there to keep him busy and keep him out of Karen Singer’s hair. The house had seemed the perfect idea.

Because he couldn’t keep his own hands out of the project, Dean had still stopped by when he could. He had helped where he was needed, and had even sanded and refinished the hardwood floors on the first level all on his own. When Bobby had chosen an exterior paint color in a mossy green shade, Dean had been skeptical but saw the finished project and realized it played perfectly against the dark wood of the window and door framing. It had turned out beautifully, and he had been sad to hear that Bobby had sold it before he’d even finished the last odds and ends that needed fixing; Dean would have bought it himself, if he could, but as much as he knew Bobby would give him a low-ball price, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. The other man had put too much work into it, and it was worth far more than Dean could hope to offer.

The idea that Castiel had bought it after a single glance, bought it for him… it left him speechless. Dean didn’t know what to say, or even think; no one did that anymore, no one presented homes to potential mates, and Castiel had up and purchased the house that Dean himself had been quietly coveting for Dean himself, potential mate still unseen.

 

He could feel the unease creeping beneath his Alpha’s skin as Castiel moved on the bed, rolling off of his chest and onto his own back.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said quickly. “I should have – I know you must think I’m crazy, I shouldn’t even have said—”

“Shh, no, it’s fine, it’s good,” Dean responded, quickly following the other man’s movements until he was straddling Castiel’s waist. “It’s good, Cas, so good,” he went on, trailing off into a mumble. 

He could see the effect he was having on his Alpha; Castiel’s eyes were dilating, a faint flush rising to his cheeks, all from the simple movement that had landed Dean looming over him on the bed, hands braced on either side of his head.

 

Dean could feel it too, the heated arousal starting to build again. He didn’t want it, didn’t want this; he had never wanted it to come to this, to be a slave to his biological imperative, to be reduced to a whining, whimpering mess, to be left at the mercy of his chosen Alpha. That in itself was the real kicker: he always thought if it ever happened, if this dormant Omega nature he possessed came to light, it would be with an Alpha he had chosen. Not with one he had scented once and completely lost his mind over.

Yet here he was. Body tense, hollow and aching for something it had never had, something he had never wanted. The sweat was already rolling down his back, a rush of blood blooming in his cheeks as the heat began to take once again. And there below him, the Alpha, primed and ready, almost trembling.

It was intoxicating. He knew that he could take from his Alpha, just take and take and take until he’d had his fill. The man below him would give him anything, do anything, all for him. It was a power like none he had ever known, and none he had ever thought could be afforded a man of his status. 

So Dean decided to _take_.

He surged forward, capturing his Alpha’s lips in a searing kiss that quickly. Castiel reacted immediately, growling into the kiss and flipping them on the mattress so that he could take control, set the pacing, and Dean loved it. His Alpha began marking him up, nips and scrapes of his teeth across Dean’s skin, everything just shy of a claiming bite, and Dean shivered at the feel of it.

“Mine,” he said. “My Alpha. Mine.” The words came out in a slurred mess, his body already riding high on his heat, mind flooded with a mixture of pleasure and need. The Alpha growled in assent, lapping at the bruise he had sucked into the tender flesh of Dean’s throat. 

 

Castiel was trying to be good, he was really trying. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the not unreal threat of Ellen’s wrath – and that of her cheerfully violent daughter – lurked, reminding him that much as he wanted to give in to what his body was crying out for, he couldn’t. Not even if Dean begged – which the Omega was beginning to do quite loudly.

“Please Alpha,” he grunted, rolling his hips up to grind against Castiel’s body. “Please. Need you, Cas. Need you. Fuck. Need you so bad.”

Castiel groaned, burying his face in the crook of his Omega’s neck and breathing in that heavenly scent that had been driving him wild since he first encountered it, warm leather and fresh greens, peppery but sweet. He wanted to breathe it in as deep as he could, bathe in that scent until there was nothing else but Dean’s warmth and sweetness clinging to his skin. He wanted, just plain wanted, so badly.

“Not this time,” his voice rumbled, low and gruff to even his own ears. A bead of sweat slid down his jaw and fell onto the Omega’s skin, joining there in a small pool at his collarbone. Just the sight of it was enough to send Castiel’s rut into overdrive; but still, he resisted. “Not this time, baby, m’sorry, we can’t, not yet, we’re not… we’re not… our heads are all… fuck, I can’t even say it right, god, Dean, I want you so bad but we fucking can’t, we can’t…”

The heart rate monitors were buzzing again, both bleating out an irritating alarm that muddled Castiel’s already messy thoughts, until the doctor couldn’t stand it and ripped the sensor off of his arm, Dean quickly following suit. 

 

Then they were kissing again, and Castiel couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, because the blankets were all kicked to the floor when he remembered them crowded at his waist only a second ago, and he was flat on his back on the mattress again with Dean looming over him. The Omega’s lips were swollen and flushed, eyes wide and showing little more than a sliver of iris, sweat rolling down his forehead.

He bit his lip, and Castiel groaned. 

“Please Alpha,” Dean begged, voice hoarse and desperate. “Need it. Please.”

And Castiel couldn’t help himself, he couldn’t stop. His Omega wanted him, needed him now, and he couldn’t let the man suffer. What kind of Alpha would he be to leave his Alpha so desperate and full of need?

He pulled Dean down so he could kiss him again, relishing the way those soft plush lips skated across his own, and ran a hand down the Omega’s sweat-slick back. He shivered, feeling the muscles working under the skin even as Dean hitched his hips against Castiel ever so slightly.

When Dean felt his Alpha’s fingertips push past the elastic waist of his Center-issue pajama pants, he practically howled in relief. He bit at Castiel’s lower lip then sucked to soothe the wound, canting his backside up towards the other man’s reach. A strong hand slipped along the curve of his ass, pausing a moment before pushing forward; Dean was wracked with a full body shudder when the first gentle fingertip brushed against his swollen, leaking opening. 

“Should I stop?” Castiel managed to pant out, breath coming in short bursts, chest heaving with the effort of reining in his impulses.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Dean growled in response. 

Castiel huffed out a laugh but before he could say another word, his Omega leaned forward and bit him hard on the shoulder. He let out a shout, knot fully forming at the sensation, and without another thought he let his fingertip press forward and breach Dean’s searing flesh.

Dean let out a moan so long and loud he was sure everyone in the building could hear it, but he didn’t care. The harsh hollow ache that had been torturing him for hours was finally getting some relief, and he couldn’t help but start rolling his hips back in a steady rhythm, body begging Castiel to press his digit just a little further into the slick tightness of Dean’s body.

For his part, Castiel was certain he was losing his mind. Just the thought of fucking into the tightness he felt with his hand was driving him wild, and Dean rocking back into his touch and clenching around him made it all the worse. He couldn’t help himself, pressing in another digit even as Dean groaned, pace of his hips quickening as he did. Castiel watched the Omega, watched his half-lidded eyes and the flush of his cheeks, and realized he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or erotic in his life, and with a sudden surprised cry, his orgasm overtook him.

The scent of sated Alpha filling the air and that awful ache inside filled, Dean tipped over that same edged and cried out, collapsing against Castiel and ignoring the warm sticky mess that had developed between them. The Alpha was panting and Dean nuzzled against him, eyes already started to flutter shut.

“When we wake up,” he mumbled, “We need a shower.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains description of a mild panic attack.

It was three days before Dean awoke with a clear head and a normal body temperature. He thought nothing of his circumstance, waking with his limbs tangled up in sweaty sheets and a dark-haired man sleeping tucked against his side, and padded to the bathroom with a soft groan. He was hungry; he hadn’t been for days. Omegas typically didn’t eat during a heat, their bodies having stored fats and proteins in the days preceding to avoid the need to interrupt the mating they were preparing to undertake. With Dean’s heat triggered rather unceremoniously, Ellen had sent in regular pitchers of juice and protein enhanced water for both him and Castiel, and they had taken what they could to avoid the need for intravenous fluids. But with the heat passed, Dean suddenly found himself ravenous.

Pancakes, he thought. Or maybe waffles. French toast? Something with maple syrup, anyway, and bacon. Or sausage. Or even both. His stomach growled again and he chuckled softly, unwrapping a toothbrush from the cabinet over the sink in the safe room’s bathroom. There were several there, along with toothpaste and a few other toiletry items. His eyes lingered on the plastic disposable razors for a long while and he ran a hand over his chin, knowing that his stubble must have gotten out of hand; Cas’ had too, judging by the impressive streak of beard-burn that ran across his lower abdomen.

Dean chuckled softly to himself, closing the cabinet and taking a long look at his own scruff; he rarely let it get this long and was consistently surprised by the odd ginger hue it tended to take on. He wasn’t a fan of razor blades – preferring his own electric shaver at home – but he’d have to make do if he wanted to be at all presentable when he left the Center, particularly so if he wanted to drop by a diner for some breakfast first thing.

Couldn’t be showing off the new mate looking like a bum, he thought, and then he dropped his toothbrush into the sink, hands shaking and eyes wide as he stared down at the milky white porcelain, now flecked with pale green suds of minty freshness.

 

Dean was shaking. He had to grip the sink to stay upright, his legs feeling weak and rubbery and the world itself seeming to hard tilt a quarter turn to the right. 

_Mate._

The word had sprung to mind unbidden; he had felt so good upon waking that the reality of what had passed between him and the mostly unknown man still sleeping in the bed they had shared for days had fallen to the back of his mind. He had been happy. Content, even. Ready to walk out the doors of the Center with this man, this Alpha, at his side.

What the ever-loving fuck had happened to him?

 

Even before taking up a career in social work, Dean had always been one to defend an Omega who needed it. He stood up for them on the playground, gave up his seat on the subway to those obviously carrying. He rolled his eyes at the Alpha macho-babble spouted off in bars and clubs, vocally shot down the worst of it. He was an educated man from a family that looked on any status with respect; he wasn’t the kind of guy to hold it against anyone.

But Dean never wanted to be one. He never wanted to be an Omega. 

He didn’t want to need anyone else. He didn’t want his body to ache and shudder, crying out for the touch of an Alpha without even using words.

He didn’t want an Alpha. His scenting ability had never been strong, not til now, but even before, he would notice the scent of a virile Alpha in the room. It was always musky and sharp, retch-inducing if they came too close and caught him off guard. He would keep his distance whenever he could.

Dean didn’t want an Alpha. He didn’t want one in his home, in his bed. Using his body like they had the right to it.

He wasn’t going to be anyone’s bitch.

 

He was going to throw up.

Dean eased himself towards the toilet, slapping the lid down so he could sit. He rest his head in his hands, hoping everything would stop spinning for a moment so that he could think. He was shaking; he couldn’t stop it, his entire body keyed up and buzzing like a child’s toy wound up too hard and too fast. 

He could hear sounds coming from beyond the door, blankets rustling and feet padding across the floor, but they seemed to be coming from so far away, blotted out by the heavy thump of his own heartbeat and the pounding of blood in his ears. He was breathing fast and hard, not seeming to take in enough air, and he fisted his hands alongside his head, as though he could pound out whatever was making him feel so suddenly ill.

 

Though he had no recollection of doing so, Dean assumed he must have made some noise, because suddenly Castiel was there, knelt on the floor in front of him.

“Dean?” he was asking, still sounding so far away. “Dean, you’re having a panic attack. I need you to listen to me, can you do that?”

Dean nodded mutely, even as part of his brain screamed at him to push the other man away and to run past him, out into the world, someplace he could disappear where status meant nothing and he didn’t have to worry about being claimed. He was trembling hard even still and his breathing was fast and harsh. Castiel reached out a moment and then paused, glancing worriedly at Dean’s pale face.

“Can I touch you, Dean? Is it alright? I just want to put my hands on your shoulders, can I do that?” he asked.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t want the Alpha’s hands on him at all. But he nodded, allowing it, because some part of him was still there, still recognizing what was happening, and knew that the doctor was only trying to help.

When Castiel’s warm hand connected with Dean’s shoulder, he felt his body begin to relax. The scent that had lulled him to sleep that day in Castiel’s office and had drive him to an eroticized high in recent days was suddenly surrounded him, making the air seem somehow warmer and the environment itself more welcoming. The cold sterile bathroom tile suddenly felt like home; his rigid muscles relaxed, and Castiel’s other hand reached to stroke his cheek. Dean leaned into it, closing his eyes and feeling the tension start to drain away.

He was still frightened, on the grand scale. But with Castiel beside him, speaking in a low, calming voice, giving him exercises to regulate his breathing and somehow helping the clouds to clear from his worried mind, Dean thought perhaps it would be okay. He remembered what his life had been for the past few years: coming home to a dark, empty apartment, throwing himself into his work so that he could pretend that it was all he needed. Seeing his parents together, his brother and his wife, and wondering what that could be like, to have someone to come home to every night, someone to share his bed, share his life.

He thought of the empty bottles in the recycling bin.

He thought of spending the rest of his life alone, because he had been too afraid.

 

Castiel was still speaking softly, just little pleasantries about how well Dean was doing, how he could see his breathing normalizing and feel his pulse slowing. His hand was still on Dean’s shoulder, with the other absently carding through his hair. 

“You’re going to be alright,” Castiel said quietly. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“No, it’s… it’s good. We’re good,” Dean responded, a little breathless. His head was pounding less and his thoughts were becoming more and more clear. Fatigued and a little weak in the knees, he realized that, overall, he still felt… good.

He gave Castiel a shaky smile. “So,” he asked, trying to sound cavalier, in spite of everything. “When do we move in?”


	15. Chapter 15

Breakfast had been… weird. A little tense, a little awkard, but that was really to be expected. The euphoria they had both felt upon waking had only been slightly dampened after Dean’s panic attack, coming back full force as they nodded and blushed their way out of the Center, much to the amusement of Jo, who had seemingly been camped out, waiting for them to emerge. Ellen had been there as well, standing with arms crossed and a frankly frighteningly cold expression, until she scented them both to check for mating and her eyebrows raised in an oddly surprised manner that Dean didn’t care much to think about.

Out in the open, in a public space, it was a little more embarrassing. They went to a diner just a short walk from the Center, and caught sly little glances, goofy smiles, and an odd giggle from everyone they passed. They’d even received an audible ‘Aww!’ from their waitress as they were seated, and Dean had blushed beet red. His own ability to scent others had always been low, his ability to detect a nearby Alpha based more in some dormant instinctual part of his brain more than anything, but since emerging from the safe room, the world had seemed a little riper, a little more fragrant than he was used to encountering. With Castiel at his side, he had been so wrapped up in the other man’s scent, it had never occurred to him that others might scent his recent heat still clinging to his skin and draw their own conclusions about him and the Alpha at his side.

It was embarrassing.

But there was still much to talk about, and Dean had decided to grin and bear it. He had made a split second decision, back at the Center, to ignore his fears and insecurities, and try and make a life for himself and his mate. Because he knew that; in spite of everything, Dean knew, down to his bones, that Castiel Stevens was his mate. He hadn’t thought he’d find one, hadn’t even believed he deserved one, but it had happened, and there was no going back now.

Come hell or high water, Dean was going to see this through, no matter the outcome.

 

“My apartment is overpriced,” he had explained over a short stack and a cheddar and onion omelet. “I only took the place cos I like the neighborhood and it’s not too far from my folks. Thing is, the landlord is a dickbag and has already started about raising the rent another couple hundred bucks.”

“Is your lease up soon?” Castiel had inquired, all quiet attention and kind focus.

“End of the month,” Dean responded. “Figure, you got this place, just down the street from me. Might be easier just paying rent to you, have a garage for my baby.”

That had quickly devolved into a brief argument over expenses (“Really, I own it outright, there’s no need for rent or anything like that, you can just—” “I’m not sponging off you Cas, I’m paying you rent or at least utilities or something”) and Dean explaining just who, or rather, what, his baby was. Castiel had been appropriately impressed with the snapshot of Dean’s beloved vintage Impala that he kept on his phone, oohing and ahhing in all of the right places, leaving Dean cheerfully flattered.

The spoke over the basic mechanics of living together, as Castiel had a condo further downtown he had already put on the market and would be living in the house with Dean. No hanky panky, they had decided immediately; they would take the time to get to know each other the right way, sharing space but sleeping separately.

“After all, we don’t really know each other,” Castiel had admitted, sounding almost sad. “But I think I would very much like to get to know you, Dean.”

 

Once everything was settled, Dean had only one major hurdle left: his mother. Thinking back on the early haze of his heat, he realized that he had asked Ellen not to alert anyone of his condition. It had been days since then, and though he never would consider himself a ‘momma’s boy’ by any stretch of the imagination, he did call home almost daily, usually on his drive home from work. And he usually passed his Tuesday afternoons there as well, spending time with his mother and the twins.

He could only hope she hadn’t overreacted to his absence.

After walking back to the Center to retrieve his car, he offered Castiel a lift but the doctor declined, citing the need to get back up to speed with the day to day happenings at the Center before heading home. They made plans to talk again later that evening, about the move, and parted ways, Dean heading straight for his parents’ house.

“Just keep driving,” he heard his mother saying over the as he walked in through the kitchen door. The Winchesters still clung to tradition in some ways, and one of them was the old corded phone hanging on the kitchen wall, where Mary stood twisting the cord in her fingers as she spoke. “Look for the Impala. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere without it, I’m sure that if you just spot the…”

“Hey mom,” Dean called, half-wincing for what he knew was to come.

His mother’s brown eyes went wide with surprise, her grip tightening on the phone cord as she stared, gaping at her son, standing in the doorway. It took a beat or two for her to react, finally telling his father on the line to come home, that Dean was there, and hanging up to address her son. She took several quick steps forward, throwing her arms around her eldest child; he had been gone for days, his phone turned off, not a word before disappearing, and she had been fearing the worst.

“Dean Campbell Winchester, just where the hell have you been?!” she asked, arms squeezed tight around her son. “I’ve been going crazy, just crazy, we all have! You just up and disappear and… and…” She sputtered suddenly taking a step back.

Her eyes were still wide and staring, and her hands crept to cover her mouth in surprise. Seconds passed and suddenly she was crying, smiling even through her tears.

“…Mom?” Dean asked, frowning. “I’m sorry, seriously, I really am, I’m okay, just something came up and I couldn’t…”

“Oh, my baby!” his mother practically squealed, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, Dean! I’m so happy for you, honey! My baby has a mate!”

“What? Mom? How do you…?” Dean asked, trying to take a step back out of his mother’s surprisingly crushing embrace. His cheeks colored in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment; how did everyone know? Was it written all over his face? Did his heat scent still linger on his clothes?

“Your scent,” Mary replied, beaming as she took a step back, hands still on her son’s shoulders. “Your scent has changed, Dean, it’s become mixed. You’ve bonded. Oh my sweet boy, I’m so happy for you!”

 

Dean felt a little sick. His own scenting ability had always been off, so perhaps that was why he hadn’t noticed any changes. Then again, he had been so saturated with Castiel’s scent for days that even though he could detect it clinging to his skin and his clothes, he had assumed it was from contact, or the t-shirt he had sheepishly squirreled away from Castiel’s belongings with intent of placing in his pillow case.

Late bloomer or not, Dean was still an Omega, and his basest instincts wanted him bathing in that scent for as long as he could, after all.

He had never noticed a change in anyone else, though he had heard it spoke on more than once after an intimate bonding had occurred. Their friends had remarked on Jo’s changing scent after her first dental appointment with Garth, and after they began spending their nights together, he had heard that it had become permanently mixed with that of the awkward dentist. And of course, John and Mary Winchester had both immediately picked up on it when their young Alpha son had come home from a date with his Spring Break sweetheart, Madison, bearing a change to his usual scent; it had been less than a week afterwards that the two had moved into their first apartment together.

In all truth, Dean should have known it would show in his scent as much as on his face, what had gone on between him and the doctor. But he just hadn’t been thinking on it, too new to the world of deep-seated scents and marking to remember that his own personal scent might have changed during the heat he spent curled around Castiel.

“Oh, Christ,” Dean muttered, face coloring further in embarrassment, one hand creeping to the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. Would everyone know, then? It certainly explained Jo and Ellen’s behavior, when he and Castiel had emerged from the safe room. They had scented it on them, even through the remains of heat and rut that must have still clung to them. 

Mary’s face softened, and she reached up to touch his cheek. 

“Oh, Dean,” she said with a small sigh, sadness in the smile playing on her face. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, honey. It happens to everybody who finds a truemate, you just never noticed it because…” 

Suddenly, Dean’s mother frowned. She inhaled deeply, cocking her head to the side with a quizzical expression, before leaning forward and unceremoniously tugging back the collar of his shirt, causing her son to yelp in surprise. He knew immediately where she was looking and chewed on his lip, waiting for her to finish. When Mary pulled back, she looked even more confused than she had a moment prior.

“I don’t understand,” she told him, still frowning; she had expected to find a mating bite on the back of his neck, but found the skin perfect and untouched. “You’re bonded, I can tell that, but… you’re not… I mean, you haven’t…”

Dean groaned. “Can we not talk about this?” he asked. He knew what she was thinking: he wasn’t mated. Unmated Omegas carried an undertone of sweetness to their scent; even when Dean himself hadn’t taken much notice of the scents around him, he could see the occasional reaction from strongly presented Alphas nearby who could scent him and note that there was no claim on him. Most everyone else seemed to assume him a Beta, and he had let them.

Now, it was all over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively weak, I know. Sorry about that.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean had thought it would be strange. Awkward, even, like breakfast had been the morning after he and Castiel had finally woken to clear minds and embarrassed blushes, nude and tangled up together in a safe room at the clinic.

But it wasn’t. It was easy, somehow. Everything just seemed to… fit.

Dean didn’t function in the morning until he had dragged himself into a hot shower and spent some time under the pounding spray of the water, senses brightening up as he scrubbed his hair and the too-early grumpiness washing away down the drain with the suds. With only one working shower on the second floor (“mostly finished”, Bobby had insisted, when Dean had called to find out what work the house still needed), Dean had been hesitant to commandeer it straight away and leave Castiel in the lurch.

As it turned out, Castiel was just fine with the arrangement. The doctor’s first stop every morning was the coffeemaker, where bleary-eyed, stubbled, and able to communicate only in a system of snuffling grunts, he’d down half a pot while making breakfast, setting a place at the table for Dean, who would join him once he was sufficiently caffeinated and able to engage in verbal communication.

They’d eat together, talk about their respective plans for the day, and Dean would clean up after the meal while Castiel took a quick shower and dressed for his day. It became all very domestic, and very quickly at that; funnily enough, Dean didn’t mind.

 

Each had refused to take the master bedroom, choosing instead one of the smaller rooms on the second floor, and Dean found it a strange comfort to know as he was turning in for the night that there was someone else on the other side of that wall. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t a neighbor in a noisy apartment building or a raucous student behind paper-thin dorm walls. It was someone who wanted to be there, who had found Dean and chosen to be a part of his life, strange though the manner of them coming together had been.

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but all in all, Dean thought that was pretty great.

 

Their books mingled on the shelves of the front parlor, Dean’s couch placed alongside Castiel’s coffee table, mismatched recliners across from both. The throw rug came from Castiel’s condo and the flat screen television mounted above the mantle was Dean’s. Their belongings and their lives seemed to fit together seamlessly, and Dean found himself startled by how little it bothered him.

By how much he liked seeing lights in the windows when coming home late from work.

By how much better he slept when he snuck a t-shirt out of Castiel’s laundry basket and slipped it into his pillowcase, changing it out every few days to keep the scent from going stale.

 

Of course, there were little hiccups along the way. Dean knew better than to expect everything to be perfect straight away, particularly when there were hormones involved. After a couple of weeks had passed, and Dean had gotten very relaxed and comfortable with the situation, he had made the first of many faux pas that he would experience after moving in with the Alpha doctor. They had been both heading out to work one morning, saying their goodbyes and making their plans for dinner as each moved towards his car in their shared garage, and Dean did something that took them both by surprise: he turned and gave Castiel a quick kiss goodbye.

The action left them both standing in stunned silence. Dean hadn’t even known why he did it, only that he hadn’t put any thought into the action at all and it had seemed almost a natural flow of the way they were going, as though it were something he did every day. Castiel had actually taken a stumbling step back in surprise, hand going to his mouth in an automatic gesture, as if testing his own senses to see if he had really felt the press of the other man’s lips against his own.

“Oh my god, I don’t, I didn’t even…” Dean stuttered, completely flabbergasted and more than a little embarrassed.

Castiel was blushing furiously, fingertips still touching his lips, trying to dampen a small smile that was threatening to for. “No, it’s… it’s fine, Dean, really… to be expected… close quarters, and all, and with our bonding… it’s fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Dean replied dumbly. Castiel gave him a smile and a nod, and Dean turned back towards his Impala, stopping short after just a few steps and dropping his briefcase on the garage floor. Castiel was more than a bit surprised when his Omega grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him on his heel, blue tie flapping in the breeze of the motion even as Dean took the doctor’s face in his hands and planted one on him that made his toes curl.

When they finally broke apart they were both panting, and each was somewhat surprised to find the distance between them had been completely closed, each rumpling their suit where it was pressed tightly against the other. Dean chuckled softly, a blush matching Castiel’s rising in his cheeks, resting his forehead against the Alpha’s.

“So that was okay?” he asked.

“More than okay,” Castiel replied, still a bit breathless. 

“Good,” Dean agreed, and took in a deep breath of the Alpha’s scent. “I’ll stop and get dinner on the way home. Chinese okay?”

“How about Thai?” Castiel suggested, voice light and a little bit breathless.

Dean grinned, dropping another quick peck to Castiel’s lips. “Thai it is,” he agreed. 

When Dean finally made his way into the Impala, he had a grin on his face, and it lasted for much of his day. 

 

The incident had set the pace for their routine, and there wasn’t a morning afterwards that Dean didn’t pause to kiss Castiel goodbye as they went their separate ways. If anyone asked, each would contend they were living in a purely platonic arrangement, and for the most part they were, but there was always that kiss to look forward to each morning – and look forward to it they did.

Dean hadn’t wanted to become some stereotypical Omega, slave to a biologic urge he couldn’t control, but he had to admit that a certain fondness was growing for the Alpha whose home he shared, even outside of the physical attraction that still simmered beneath the surface. 

He liked the way the doctor could be infinitely knowledgeable about something and spent ten minutes explaining some obscure and archaic fact to Dean, only to be utterly confounded by an instance of random pop culture. He could tell Dean about the many uses of bat guano and why it’s good for a home garden to have a bat nest box posted nearby, but he had never seen a Batman film or even read a comic book. He loved getting takeout and could eat his weight in pad thai, but had such trouble using chopsticks that his brow would furrow and he’d flush in embarrassment, giving in at the end to use the plastic forks packaged in the bottom of the bag.

And god help Dean, but he thought it was cute. Which opened up a whole new set of issues that Dean wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with.

 

For the most part, even as a kid, Dean had been interested almost exclusively in girls. He hadn’t rejected the idea of dating another boy – and to be fair, more than one had turned his head in the day – but it just never happened. And when he found out about his latent Omega status, his mindset shifted out of what he was learning to be some sort of misplaced fear, to the point that he only pursued relationships with women, and Beta women at that. This was all brand new territory for him, save the messy unclear memories he had of the throws of his first heat.

The worst of it is that he knew even beyond his most primal level, he wanted Castiel. It wasn’t just the Omega in him crying out for an Alpha; it had gone beyond that, quicker than Dean ever thought it would or even could, and it left his mind a confused mess of questions, longing, and ridiculously overwrought outright lusting.

It was beyond frustrating.

There had been a morning, some three weeks after he and Castiel had moved in together, that Dean had a late start to his day. He was due to speak at a custody hearing and wouldn’t be heading out for the day until a couple hours later than usual and had decided to catch an hour’s worth of extra sleep, rising with a yawn and a stretch just as Castiel exited the bathroom after his shower for the day. 

They had mumbled their morning greetings at one another in the hallway and Dean excused himself into the bathroom, freezing in place as soon as the door closed behind him. He immediately recognized faint scent to the air had his pulse racing; the room was soaked in Alpha arousal and Dean’s body was reacting before he had even a chance to realize what was happening, boxers tented and dampened with slick when he realized what Castiel must have been up to during his shower.

Even the embarrassing thought that Castiel must have the same reaction some mornings when he takes his usual shower after wasn’t enough to put a damper on Dean’s suddenly electric libido.

 

All in all, Dean Winchester could say his life had gotten pretty strange. But when he found himself sitting on his old couch with Castiel beside him, cocking his head and frowning at the television, a forkful of fried rice hallway to his lips as he paused to say, “I don’t understand. That man doesn’t look like a penguin”, Dean found himself hard-pressed to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I was without a working computer for some time :(  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://literatec.tumblr.com), if you wish.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean had been spending some of his Tuesdays with his niece and nephew at the new house; his mother had gotten involved with a support group for Alpha women at the Center and it had given Dean leave to enjoy his time with his brother’s children outside of their family home. Castiel had been more than accommodating, making sure there was space in the garage for their car seats and clearing a pantry shelf for a pair of booster style highchairs that could be strapped to their kitchen dinette set. Some weeks, like that particular Tuesday, Castiel would be home for the day and get a bird’s eye view of Dean wrangling his rambunctious niece and nephew.

Maggie had been the first to start walking, but Alex hadn’t been far behind, and now they toddled clumsy little circles around their uncle, bringing him books to be read and toys to be played with and dandelions on broken stems to be placed in glasses of water and held in a place of honor on the fireplace mantle. 

The front parlor was a mess of toys, usually kept in a nondescript cedar toy chest that Castiel had brought home one afternoon, some weeks before. Maggie had kept herself occupied for the better part of a half hour with a ring stacking toy, while Alex sat nearby, intent on consuming a well-loved copy of Pat the Bunny.

“Alex, buddy, c’mon man, that’s not for eatin’,” Dean said, standing up from his seat on the couch and moving to pull the book from the toddler’s mouth. 

The movement caught each child’s attention and in a matter of seconds, both were standing at his feet, pulling at the legs of his jeans and echoing one another with a chant of “Dee! Up! Uppy! Dee! Uppy Dee!”

Dean let out a deep laugh and leaned down, realizing all at once a recent growth spurt would make it near impossible to pick up both children at the same time. He had forgotten that Castiel had been sitting in an armchair nearby entirely until the other man offered a quiet “Let me help” and scooped up Alex.

The shyer of the twins, the little boy seemed someone startled for a long moment, staring at Castiel’s face with wide hazel eyes.

Dean smiled as he lifted Maggie into his arms. “It’s okay, Al… you remember Cas, don’t you?”

“Cas! Cas!” Maggie chanted loudly, seemingly in support of her more introverted brother.

The little boy gazed up at Castiel from beneath thick dark lashes and smiled a small, sweet little smile before leaning forward and burying his face against the man’s chest, earning laughter from both Dean and Castiel himself.

“Little man is flirtin’,” Dean teased, trying to ignore the aching sensation of warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of Castiel with a toddler tucked into his arms. Nope, he was _not_ going to think about that at all.

“Cas!” Maggie added loudly, then decided it was time to firmly grasp and pull on her uncle’s earlobe.

“Jesus this kid has a grip,” Dean announced with a wince.

Castiel had begun very gently bouncing on his heels, so soft a movement that Dean hadn’t noticed it at first; Alex’s face was still pressed firmly against the white dress shirt that Castiel was wearing, and even before Castiel said a word, Dean could see that the toddler was out like a light.

“It seems it has become Alex’s nap time,” Castiel said with a quiet laugh. Thankfully, the sudden heavy knock at the door only made Alex startle slightly in his slumber and not wake. For her part, his sister clapped her hands over her ears and screwed her face into such an angry pout that Dean was forcibly reminded of his younger brother, the girl’s father, and the obstinate frown he’d often put on during their youth.

“Let me get it,” Dean said, nodding towards the door. “You can put Alex down in the playpen if you want, he’ll probably be out for a couple of hours.”

Eyes still on the sleeping boy in his arms, Castiel shook his head. “Oh, I think we’ll be good here for a bit,” he said, more to himself than to Dean, and smoothed back the toddler’s messy dark hair with his free hand. 

The little ache in Dean’s chest gave another warm throb, which he dutifully ignored, and he carried Maggie towards the front hallway entrance.

“Let’s see who it is, Mags,” he said.

 

The man at the door was short and portly, sweating in the midday sun and wearing an altogether sour expression. He flipped the page on a clipboard he held and pulled a pencil from where he’d had it tucked behind his ear.

“Delivery for Dr. Castle Stevens and mate,” he announced blandly.

Dean frowned. “Castiel,” he corrected.

The deliveryman rolled his eyes and held out the clipboard and pencil. “Just sign here, man. Got my guy backing up the truck and we can start hauling this in.” 

Dean took the proffered pencil and scribbled his signature, watching as a large nondescript truck backed into the driveway, no logo or image present on the sides of the large white trailer to indicate its origin. Satisfied with the signature, the deliveryman turned to leave before stopping and pulling a cream-colored envelope from an inner pocket on his coveralls, handing it over to Dean and then continuing on his way.

Written on the thick linen paper in an elegant script was the simple greeting: _For Castiel and his mate_.

Balancing Maggie on his hip with one arm as she chattered away in her toddler babble, Dean pulled the front door wide to allow for the deliverymen to enter and turned back towards the front parlor, holding the envelope out with a frown.

“Uh, Cas?” he asked. “You expectin’ something to be delivered today or…?”

Castiel, still holding the sleeping Alex, glanced up in surprise and immediately sighed when his eyes fell upon the familiar stationary and handwriting.

“Oh, hell,” Castiel groaned.

 

“ _Dear Castiel_ ,” the letter read. “ _Your father and I were very pleased to hear that you had found a mate; we were, however, less pleased that the news had to come from your brother Gabriel. All the same, the news was very welcome. You know how much I’ve worried about you, being on your own for so long; you will have to come home to us soon so that we may get to know the newest member of our family._

“ _To our dear son’s mate: I am so sorry that I do not know your name and cannot greet you properly, but please know that we are overjoyed that you and Castiel have found one another. I have long worried over my youngest son finding his heart’s true mate, and though we have not yet met, the way he speaks of you to his brother has more than convinced me that I need no longer fret over his future._

“ _By way of a housewarming gift – and, thank you, Castiel, again, for having me learn of your new home through your brother – I am sending a furniture suite for your master bedroom. It has been hand-carved in the Victorian style, as it fitting, I have been told, for your home._

“ _With it comes all of my love. I hope to see you both soon._

“ _Love always, Mom_.”

 

“Wow,” Dean said, shaking his head as he looked up from the neatly written page. “I feel like a dick by association.”

Castiel frowned. “I had only wanted to wait until… I mean, we’ve been… it’s been so fast, I didn’t…” he stammered, flushing red as he spoke.

“Seepy, Dee,” Maggie interrupted, pulling at her uncle’s earlobe again until he brought her to the playpen in the corner, leaning down to place her beside her brother. The little girl quickly closed her eyes, curling up beside Alex and drifting into a deep sleep even as the deliveryman outside shouted back and forth to one another and began unloading furniture.

“We can put it in the master,” Dean offered, turning back to Castiel. The master bedroom of the bower house had remained empty since they had moved in, each choosing a smaller bedroom for their own use. “Use it as a guest room.”

Castiel nodded, glad that Dean had let the contents of the letter drop. He cast his eyes towards the door as the first piece of furniture, an intricately carved dresser stained in dark cherry wood. Clearing his throat, he moved towards the deliverymen, directing them that the piece should go into the master bedroom at the top of the stairs and offering his assistance.

The men declined his help and went about their work, leaving Dean and Castiel to watch quietly as each new piece of furniture arrived and was brought upstairs, night tables and a second dresser, even a full length mirror on a stand, until the bed was brought in piece by piece. The frame was in the same dark wood as the rest of the suite, with an impossibly large head and footboard, hand-turned posts and feet, and finials shaped in a royal design, with squared boxes topped by tapered knobs. 

It was followed in by a mattress that could have been no smaller than king size, and for a moment it seemed each man found himself lost in the thought of putting it to use; the clearing of the throat of one of the deliverymen, asking for another signature on a form before they departed, had both Dean and Castiel blushing, each grateful that the deliverymen were clearly Beta, and wouldn’t notice the sudden wash of pheromones swimming in the air between them.


	18. Chapter 18

The new bedroom set seemed to normalize things around the house more than they had been. There was less tiptoeing around one another; the idea that one day cementing their bond, sharing a life, sharing a bed could be a reality somehow lessened the strangeness that had still crept in around the edges of their daily life.

And better still, it gave them both the swift kick in the pants they needed.

They had been dancing around their issues, not speaking about heats or ruts, barely acknowledging their genetic status or the fact that their bodies, without their permission, had bound them together for life. 

Beyond even exploring what that meant, they had to deal with the everyday repercussions that would inevitably arrive: sooner or later, one of them was going to bear the fruit of having a newly kick-started reproductive cycle.

So they sat, and they talked, and they made a plan. Over a good meal and a few bottles of good bourbon, they hashed out all the details. Realizing that the master bedroom was the first one encountered atop the stairs, it seemed the best place for each to stash a getaway bag, just a duffel bag with the necessities to last a few days bunking at the home of friends or family while the other sweated out a heat or rut alone.

They knew they wouldn’t last a day in the same household in that condition; the night the bed was delivered, Castiel had gone for a jog to work off some steam while Dean took to a treadmill in the basement. With hormones already running high, the scent each put off after their workout was more than the other could stand, when Castiel entered the house just as Dean was mounting the stairs to head for a shower.

Suddenly it was all hands and mouths and miles of exertion-flushed skin, and when they finally managed to reign themselves in – after several false-starts – they realized that either encountering the other at the high point of their cycle would move towards an unstoppable conclusion.

For his part, Castiel planned to sleep on the couch in his office, should Dean’s heat come again; Dean had already made plans to commandeer his brother’s guest room for the duration if Castiel’s rut should occur. The best option would have been to keep their bags as far away from the bedrooms as possible, but with no closet in the front hall, it had seemed the master bedroom was their best bet.

Of course they had to plan for the other consequence, safeguards for the one who would be out of sorts. The simplest thing to do would be to lock up at home for a few days, retreating to their own bedroom for the duration. They would each stock a case of water bottles beneath the bed, and Castiel insisted on purchasing heartrate monitors to store in night table drawers, just in case.

“You’d only have to check once or twice,” he counseled Dean with a serious expression. “Just to be certain you’re safe at home. I’ll jot down some numbers to watch for, and if it gets in that range, you should call Ellen.”

Dean chuckled in an embarrassed sort of way, downing the rest of his glass of bourbon with a quick nod.

“Sure,” he agreed, face gone red with drink and the awkwardness of the conversation.

“Dean,” Castiel responded, grabbing the other man’s hand across the wooden kitchen table. “You have to promise me you will. I don’t want to leave you in that state if I’m not certain you’ll be safe.”

There was a sharpness to his tone, a little whispered undertone of authority that Dean all at once realized was the vestige of an Alpha, something he wouldn’t even hear if they weren’t bonded. It made his skin prickle and his flush deepen, even as he watched Castiel’s pupils dilate in response to the way Dean was reacting.

The Alpha doctor cleared his throat. 

“I just,” he started, realizing suddenly that he was gripping the other man’s hand, and how tightly Dean was returning that grasp. Letting go, he started again. “I just need to be sure that you’ll be all right.”

Dean poured them both another drink. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I promise.”

 

Dean had turned in a change of address form at his office only days after he agreed to move in with Castiel and it had been for the most part an uneventful affair, so he was surprised to see a memo in his inbox when he fired up his computer after returning from a hearing at the local courthouse, requesting his presence at the city’s human resources department to discuss it.

He worked for a city agency, so he had to travel back to the center of the downtown area that afternoon to visit the office of a human resources generalist. He was puzzled over the affair, and thought perhaps he had made an error in printing the new address, transposed some numbers in the zip code or misspelled the street, just enough to invalidate it in the computer system.

But then, that was something that could be handled over the telephone.

They gave him no information at the front desk, only sent him down the hallway and up a staircase to an office with a frosted glass door and a placard beside it that surprised him enough that he nearly dropped his briefcase; it read C. Bradbury, MSHRD.

The spritely redhead that grinned up at him from behind the desk when he unceremoniously threw open the door presented both a shock and a welcome surprise.

“Charlie, what the hell?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

She stood and laughed, bouncing out from behind the desk with a childish glee that belied the sensible blouse and pencil skirt she wore. Small even in a pair of pumps, she seemed dwarfed by the embrace of the taller man.

“I could ask the same thing!” she replied, still laughing. “I get home, get a job, and the first piece of paper coming across my desk tells me Dean-freaking-Winchester has a bondmate and he never bothered to tell me?!”

“Hey, back it up,” Dean replied, laughing even as the woman resumed her seat and he settled not the chair across from her desk. “Last thing I heard, you and your professor were chasing down ancient relics in Malaysia and now you’re back?”

Charlied smiled, pleased if a little wistful. “Dot’s still chasing them down,” she replied. “But I’m ready to settle down. I just wanted to come home, is all. And then… well… that’s a story for later. But seriously, Dean? Bonded, not mated? Secondary emergency contact? Your very own Dr. Sexy, apparently? What the hell did I miss?”

“Ah hell, I wondered if anyone would spot that,” Dean replied with a sigh, running his hand through his hair, his usual work suit feeling a little more uncomfortable than usual.

He had checked a few boxes he usually left unfilled on the change of address form. The space where it read ‘Spouse, Partner, Mate’ with a series of checkboxes beside it was something Dean usually left blank, but the thought of a bad heat hitting while he was on the job had been kicking around the back of his mind and he knew he’d have to fill it in.

On the line for ‘Mate’ there were more options: Mated?, it asked. Bonded? 

Dean knew bonding could alter someone’s system; he’d even heard of someone’s RF type switching from positive to negative after the bond took, as ludicrous as it seemed. He had to put it down.

And of course, he’d had to write in Castiel’s name, his cell phone number, where he worked; he was even eligible for insurance benefits under Dean’s plan, something the Omega had yet to broach with the good doctor.

Baby steps, after all.

“So?!” Charlied demanded. “Tit for tat here, buddy. You dish first.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst... guys I'm like three episodes behind as of 5/7/15, please no hitting me with spoilers!

Charlie Bradbury had made her entrance into Dean’s life something like a small redheaded hurricane, pouncing down on his eight year old self from atop a playground jungle gym and never really quite letting go. Where Jo had always been a close friend and occasional object of muted affection, Charlie had been the little sister he never wanted and never quite knew how to shake. Two years his junior, the petite girl with laughing eyes and elfin features had somehow managed to become one of the most important people in his life.

Truth be told, he had been about as heartbroken as Jo when the redhead and up and ditched them to chase her dreams around the globe.

There was an easiness to her, a kindness of soul and spirit that soothed the angry overcompensating side of Dean that liked to take all of his frustration and bad feelings and tamp them down deep into some dark place inside, to fester and rot and wait to explode.

When Charlie talked, Dean listened.

When Charlie demanded he lay himself bare, the words came bubbling up and spilling out his lips without any permission or control.

He told her about stumbling upon the doctor’s office, how it quieted and calmed him, lulling him into a deep sleep just by virtue of a remnant scent hanging in the air.

He told her about encountering the man himself, live and in person, and a single moment of absolute awe at seeing his face and knowing, simply knowing in his heart of hearts what this was and what it meant, and rush of astounding joy that came with it, even as years of deadened hormones kicked into high gear and sent him to his knees.

He told her about feeling no shame when twisting in the sheets, a whining, needy Omega, as bad as any he’d ever heard of, pulse throbbing and blood pounding in his ears, every cell in his body crying out for the touch of a man he had never even properly met.

Dean told Charlie all about the way Castiel had held him, trying to remain mindful the danger the situation presented to them both but still being kind and gentle, doing everything in his power to keep the Omega safe without crossing lines they might regret.

He talked about the lines that they had crossed, touches and kisses and the way the gentle scrape of Castiel’s teeth across the nape of his neck had made him shiver and shake and beg, even as the doctor refused to take the next step and make that unalterable mark that would bind them together, not before they could really meet and talk and find a way to muddle through the mess they had fallen into.

He described the bower house, their clumsy domestication, tense dinners where no one spoke to mornings where a goodbye kiss in the garage went on far longer than it should have; arguments over who left their running shoes on the floor in the bathroom and who put an empty box of cereal back on the shelf that seemed never to get too fierce, even when when Dean sported an angry red bump on his forehead for days after tripping over a pair of misplaced Nikes when stepping out of the shower and going face-first into the edge of the sink.

He explained the plans they had made, emergency contingencies in the case of a heat or a rut, putting protecting one another before anything else and being ready to drop everything on a moment’s notice if necessary.

Dean told Charlie about average weeknights, when he’d come from work angry and sick at some of the things he had witness or had to rehash in court, from seeing the awful things people could do to one another and, worse still, to their children, and he told her that he’d be sullen and closed-off when somehow, just like magic, the doctor’s deep voice and quiet cadence would draw him out, warm touches of the doctor’s hand to his own would calm his nerves, and in no time at all he’d be talking and laughing, and later still, much later after they’d shared a meal and gone through the doldrums of routine, he’d find himself in a dark living room lit only by the flickering light of a television screen, the Alpha tucked against his side and their hands fiddling against one another, playing with loose threads on clothing or stroking gently against exposed skin, the simple touch enough to draw them both into sleepy contentment.

By the time he had finished, Charlie looked as the air around her would at any moment burst into a flutter of tiny cartoon hearts, hands pressed against her mouth and an expression of pure sweetness and affection on her face.

“Oh my god,” she said, voice barely above an excited whisper.

Dean sighed. “Don’t say it,” he warned her.

Charlie ignored him. “Truemates!” she cooed.

Dean groaned. “C’mon Charlie…” he began.

She jumped out from behind her desk and sat on the edge in front of him, hands gripping against the wooden veneer to balance her there.

“De-ean!” she groaned, face falling. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t believe in-”

“Believe in what?” Dean interrupted. “Fairy tales? No thanks, Charlie. Had enough of that crap as a kid.”

“God, you are so stubborn,” Charlie said with a frown, arms crossing over her chest in annoyance. “Okay then, Mr Know-It-All, if truemates aren’t real and this dreamy doctor isn’t yours, then how do you explain everything that’s happened?”  
Dean flushed. “I never said he was ‘dreamy’,” he grumbled.

“No, I believe the phrase most often used was ‘sexy as fuck’,” Charlie responded with a triumphant grin.

Dean groaned again. “God, I really did say that, didn’t I?” he muttered.

“You got it bad, buddy,” she said with a nod.

“No, I just… it’s…” Dean stuttered.

“What is it, exactly?” Charlied asked, still grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

“Lust?” Dean replied, shrugging and gesturing wildly. The thought made him uncomfortable, the idea that his body had been wired a certain way for the express purpose of meeting someone else, especially when he knew well enough that it had been wired all the wrong ways. “I don’t know, hormones? Late onset puberty?”

“Right,” Charlied mocked him, rolling her eyes. “Late onset secondary puberty spontaneously occurring in the presence of a stranger who also goes into a late onset secondary puberty. Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?”

“Do you have any idea how crazy the idea of truemates sounds?” Dean countered. He sighed. “Look, Charlie, if there was any truth to that, what is the point of people dating or whatever? Shouldn’t they just sit around and wait for this perfect destine person to show up? And what about the people it never happens to? What about you?”

Charlie’s expression sobered and he immediately regretted his words, recalling all too quickly that she had returned from galivanting around the world with someone she had probably thought to be her soulmate; coupled with the breakup with Jo in years past, Dean suddenly found himself hating his big mouth.

“Look, I didn’t mean…” he started quickly, pausing when Charlie waved away his concerns. Suddenly he realized that she wore a serious expression, but not one that bore any hurt. There was the smallest of smiles there, playing about her lips, and he frowned, not understanding.

“I did find my truemate, Dean,” she replied, letting loose a wistful sigh.

Dean’s frown deepened. “Dorothy…?” he asked, and the redhead shook her short wavy locks.

“Nope. I don’t even know her name,” she said, laughing.

Green eyes wide in surprise, Dean arched an eyebrow. “Okay…” he said slowly. “I think it’s your turn to explain here, kiddo.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen the season finale yet either, ugh.

The way Charlie described it, Dean almost felt as though he had been there with her, on a crowded train platform in India. Weary travellers milled about in the hot afternoon sun, the scent of sweat hanging high in the air, eclipsed only by the spicy aroma wafting from the cart of an elderly man selling hot snacks wrapped in cloth. Charlie passed a few coins his way and received two piping hot samosas tied up in a scrap of red checkered cloth, and moved watch a handful of children playing with a soccer ball in the dust beyond the rail station. There was an hour or so before her train would arrive, so she was in no hurry; in truth, her whole journey home had been lax and lazy, taking slow routes and long ways around to see a little bit more of the world before settling back into her hometown.

She settled onto a rickety bench, watching the children and nibbling at her snack, content to spend her time enjoying the afternoon sun until her train arrived, when it hit her: a scent so deep and overpowering that it blotted out all others, wrapping around her in a wave of fragrant revelry that had her heart pounding in her chest.

It was green and dark, like the deep heart of a wild forest, full of leafy and woody scents drenched in sunshine and cool clean water. It called to mind memories of happier days, a childhood spent tearing through the woods with her friends, playing games and building forts and enjoying all that nature had to offer. 

It took her a moment to understand what was happening, but as soon as it clicked in Charlie’s head, as soon as the thrumming of her pulse began chanting mate, she began glancing around wildly for the source of the wonderful scent.

Charlie knew the moment her eyes lit upon its source, the little voice inside of her whispering an awed ‘It’s her’. 

She was in the center of a huge crowd, halfway up the metal stairs leading into a passenger car and her head whipped around to stare at Charlie with wide, lovely eyes, an expression of utter shock on her face.

Everything about her seemed to glow in the fading light of the sun. She was dressed in a sari, a golden wrap that almost seemed to sparkle, woven with intricate designs and decked in beadwork and crystal. Her hair was a soft shade of brown, pulled away from her face in a tight tail and falling in a tangle of curls to frame a delicately featured face. She tried to turn, to hurry back down the stairway and run to the mate calling to her heart from across the train station, but the throngs of travelers wouldn’t allow it, pushing her forward and up the stairs even as her companion, a gawky man with a sour expression on his thin face, pulled her along by the hand.  
Charlie felt a moment of wild panic, seeing her truemate disappearing into the train, only to appear again at dirty window in the car she had entered. She could see that the woman was shouting, struggling with an antiquated slide lock on the window, finally giving up to just pound her fists against the glass and weep.

Charlie felt dizzy and sick, running to anyone who looked as though they worked at the station, stumbling over her words and trying to beg for help but finding a separation of language and confusion at her panicked manner making it difficult to get anyone to understand. By then, the engine had started, and the train squealed as it pulled itself down the track, dragging Charlie’s mate further and further along the line, away from her.

She hit her knees on the train platform, hands fisted at her sides in frustration as she cried, attracting the attention of some of the children playing nearby. Curious, the children hesitantly inched closer and one small boy came forward, putting a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder, his expression open and concerned. He asked her a question in a language she didn’t understand, and she simply pointed at the train growing smaller in the distance and clutched at her heart.

A set of dark brown eyes grew suddenly wide in understanding, and the boy and his friends began to run towards the station office, speaking quickly and gesturing wildly towards Charlie and the train; the only word she had been able to understand had been repeated often by the small mob of children, and then the adult passengers who had been waiting at that station and caught wind of what was happening.

“Mate!” they shouted, seemingly as desperate as Charlie felt to get the attention of someone who might help. “Mate! Mate!”

 

It was hopeless. The train station was too rural, its communication services floundering in an area without satellite coverage and wired communication lines; still, they tried in vain to reach someone on the train, waiting passengers offering up personal phones in hopes to find anyone who could help, but no one had been able to make a connection. 

A heavyset woman with stone grey hair pulled back in a straight bun had held Charlie while she wept, speaking soft comforting words that Charlie couldn’t define but knew by sound were meant to console. She stroked at Charlie’s hair with gnarled brown hands, letting the younger woman rest against her side and weep into the deep red paisley print of her sari until her own train had arrived.

It would be days before another train on the line that followed where Charlie’s mate had gone would arrive; by the time Charlie could get there, there would be no trail to follow.

She simply boarded her own train when it arrived, mobbed by comforting words and embraces from those who had witnessed what she had gone through, and started home.

 

“Jesus Christ, Charlie,” Dean said, shaking his head. He’d heard quite a few horror tales when it came to mates over the years, but as far as lost connections went, Charlie’s surely took the crown.

He had heard of such things happening before, crowds rallying around mates who met on the fly in public, passing one another without a chance to really speak; there was always that charming little public interest story on the news, truemates who almost lost one another, until the inevitable kindness of strangers brought them together again.

The fact that so many had tried and failed to bring Charlie to the mysterious woman in the golden sari was damn near gut-wrenching.

The redhead snorted. “You’re tellin’ me,” she replied, leaning back in her desk chair.

“And you just kept on headin’ home?” Dean asked her, shuffling forward in his seat. “I mean… I mean, hell, couldn’t you have tried to find her? Even if you couldn’t follow the train, what are the odds of her traveling all that far from where it was going anyhow?”

“She wasn’t local, I could see that much,” Charlie told him. “It was probably just one more stop in a longer trip, like it was for me. But don’t worry,” she went on, a sudden sparkle appearing in her eye. “I’ve got a plan!”

Dean arched a dark blonde eyebrow at her words, glad to see the high spirited response; that was the Charlie he knew and loved, after all. Kind, energetic, and ever hopeful.

“Should I be worried?” he teased.

She snorted. “Ellen gave me the idea. She said, you know, there’s like dating sites and whatever for mates and stuff, but nothing out there along the lines of missed connections. And then it hit me: MissedMatch.com!”

“Never heard of it,” Dean replied.

“Of course you haven’t, I’m not done designing it,” Charlie told him, and Dean had to crack a smile. Charlie had bounced from major to major in college, never settling for too long in one place; she was either miles ahead of the material or utterly uninterested. She’d stayed in computer sciences for a semester or two but had decided it was more fun to do it on her own than to take basic form and function classes, and moved on to another idea after that. It was no surprise to Dean that she had gained a Masters degree at some point, though of all of her myriad majors over the years, he wouldn’t have guessed it would be in Human Resources.

“It’ll be all suited for people who met their mates but didn’t get a chance to get to know them, from simple stuff like arranging re-introducing them in a better setting to helping them track each other down,” Charlie went on, clearly excited about her new project. “If it takes off like I think it will, I’ll be able to sell ad-space to pay for the hosting and traffic and offer it as a free service. Won’t that be cool?”

“And you think she’ll…” Dean began.

“I know she will,” Charlie cut him off. “She’s my truemate, Dean. She’ll find me again.”

 

Their conversation drifted towards the mundane after that, friendly pleasantries asking how their days had been spent apart. Charlie avoided pressing for too much information on the Alpha doctor whose home Dean shared, and he found himself thankful for that. For the most part, it was nice just to see his old friend again, and to see her spirits high in spite of all that had happened to her while she was away.

“Wait,” Dean said suddenly, remembering that he was still technically on the clock and had been sent to the Human Resources offices from his own. “Is there some paperwork or something I have to do, or did you seriously just have my boss send me down here for no reason?”

Charlie looked offended. “For ‘no reason’?” she repeated. “I think seeing my bestie is a damn good reason!”

Dean snorted and stood; it was after five, and traffic home would be terrible if he didn’t hit the road then and there. 

“You should come see the house this weekend,” Dean offered, slipping the handle of his briefcase into his hand and heading for the door.

“Sounds like a plan,” Charlie agreed eagerly. “Just make sure your dreamy doctor is there for me to meet.”

Dean snorted again, thoughts of all that Charlie had told him milling about his tired mind as he moved towards the door. He had just placed a hand on the cool brass doorknob when a sudden thought occurred to him and he froze in place.

“Charlie?” he asked slowly.

“What’s up?” she responded, having turned to the computer at her desk.  
“How did you scent her?” Dean asked, turning back to face her with a curious expression.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “How do you think? Same was as everybody else,” she replied, eyes still glued to her computer monitor.

“You’re a Beta,” Dean replied. “Betas can’t scent, not like that.”

Charlie glanced up at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “You’re too smart for your own good, Winchester,” she accused, and then sighed. “Tell you what: that’s a story for another day. You get your doctor to invite me to dinner this weekend, and I’ll tell it to you.”


	21. Chapter 21

It seemed only fitting that Charlie would have had to embark on some epic journey to have found her mate, Dean thought; even more so that it would become an adventure to find her again, a quest for the redhead to follow. That was Charlie all over, full of tales of battle and bravery, an epic poem in the flesh with bright eyes and a cheeky grin.

It didn’t surprise Dean at all that he believed what Charlie had said. She would find her mate; he just knew it.

He thought of it as he drove home, maneuvering his classic Impala through miles of rush hour traffic. The day had certainly not ended where he thought it would when he left for work that morning, but, again, that was just Charlie: if nothing else, unexpected.

He was glad she was so certain of her eventual reunion with her mate; the thought of experiencing what she had gone through was repulsive to Dean, the traitorous part of his mind that often led him to think about such things that were cruel and mean in nature going over her painful encounter again and again.

He thought about how he might have reacted in her situation, what he might have done, and how it might have felt. All at once an icy grip settled around his heart, knocking the breath out of him with the pain of it; he grasped tightly at the wheel of his car, trying to calm himself and repeating again in his mind that it hadn’t gone that way for him at all.

Still, the pain of it was there, the horror of perhaps having glimpsed Castiel at some faraway place, for even just a moment, long enough to have felt the connection that had seized upon him the moment he had stepped into the man’s office at the Center, something so strong that the mere ghost of his scent had managed to lull Dean into a peaceful sleep.

The thought of watching his mate spirited away on a train destined for parts unknown, perhaps never to be seen again.

Dean wasn’t even aware that he had been crying until he felt the warm wetness slip down to his chin, and he cursed at himself and his stupid Omega hormones as he turned onto his street, watching with a sudden anxious anticipation for the towering bower house to appear before him, knowing the doctor would already be home and waiting inside.

He left his briefcase in the car when he finally got home, parking in the garage and barely bothering to lock the doors behind him. He found the doctor in the kitchen, standing at the open fridge and most likely debating the viability of the plethora of take-out leftovers they had from the past busy week at work. Castiel seemed surprised when Dean walked up and enveloped him in a tight hug without so much of a word, but he returned the embrace so quickly that he clearly had no problem with it.

Dean had no idea what he was doing, just let his instincts lead and pressed his nose into the crook of Castiel’s neck, taking in long deep breaths that calmed the constant thrum of imagined loss that pounded in his heart. He knew he’d feel silly and shamed later, of having acted in such a way over something that hadn’t even been real, just a moment’s thought of placing himself in Charlie’s shoes, but for the moment Dean allowed himself the comfort of his mate’s touch. 

_Don’t leave me_ , he thought to himself. _Don’t ever leave me. Please. Stay with me. Don’t leave me all alone. Promise you’ll stay with me._

He didn’t realize he had been speaking the words aloud until he heard Castiel’s voice husk in his ear, “I promise.”

 

Somehow what had been meant to have been a small intimate dinner with Charlie over the weekend had turned into a backyard barbeque. Castiel had become well-versed in travelling the labyrinth that was Dean Winchester’s intimacy issues and made no mention of their moment in the kitchen days prior, but had noted the way Dean’s touches seemed to linger a little more and their goodbye kiss (that had long since become a goodbye, goodnight, good morning, good god you look amazing kiss) was getting harder and harder to break.

Still, he was nervous about having everyone Charlie descend on their home; he had briefly met Dean’s parents, and spent time with Sam, Madison, and their twins, but it was somewhat daunting to have someone over to their home for an extended period, other than Dean’s niece and nephew. Castiel knew that he was the odd man out; he feared a bad impression could turn Dean’s opinion of him, and that was something he just didn’t think he could take.

For every tiptoe forward that Dean took, Castiel knew that he himself had fallen too fast and too hard to ever let go.

The morning of the barbeque saw him in a flurry of activity, making sure the grass was cut and the flower beds weeded, sweeping the stone-flagged patio, and assembled a wrought iron fire pit he had bought the night before. 

When she arrived, he was taken aback at the spritely woman throwing her arms around him in greeting, as though they were long lost friends finally reunited, instead of meeting for the first time. Castiel quickly learned that Charlie’s affection for Dean extended to everyone important to him; much as he enjoyed the greeting, he found himself more cheered in knowing that Dean felt him an important part of his life, and not just a hindrance or happenstantial acquaintance. 

His scenting ability had always been a little off, but since meeting Dean, Castiel found himself noting scents on others more and more often, and with Charlie it was no different. She smelled of of clean metals and static, reminding Castiel of the air before a thunderstorm or the muted scent of a computer lab; beneath it were notes of something sweeter, baby powder or cotton candy. He was immediately fond of it, not in the visceral way that Dean’s scent gripped him, but in a pleasant, friendly sort of way.

He had heard of friendships finding their attraction based on underlying scent before, but had never really been able to experience it for himself before; he made a mental note, thinking it might make an interested course of study for his research, but filed it away for later days. Tonight was not to be spent thinking on his work, after all.

 

Charlie was effervescent. When she smiled, Castiel felt himself smile in return on instinct. Just an hour spent in her presence made him certain that he had made a friend for life, no matter what became of him and Dean. She told stories of her travels over dinner, of seeing the ruins of Angkor Wat and Machu Picchu, hiking the sand between the pyramids of Giza, of being moved to tears viewing the crumpled figure of a child in the Garden of the Fugitives at Pompeii. She had journied the world over in the scant few years she had been away from home, and each destination seemed to bring with it a new story to tell.

“Tell Cas about India,” Dean said quietly, watching the flames of the fire pit flickering between them on the back patio. Darkness had fallen and, a few blankets retrieved and the fire roaring in front of them, the three had gathered there with bottles of beer, enjoying the night air.

Charlie smiled then, the same strange mixture of sadness and overwhelming joy on her face as she recounted the tale she had told Dean in her office in the days before, of finding her mate, only to see the woman swept away in a crowd of people and spirited off by a train. The pain of the situation was almost palpable in the air, Castiel frowning at the very thought of having missed Dean in such a way, and without thinking he crept a hand out from beneath his blanket and reached to clasp Dean’s in his own.

“Now explain the part about how a Beta can scent a mate,” Dean told her, and Castiel glanced at him in surprise at his words; the Alpha had scented Charlie as an Omega from the moment she walked in the door.

The redhead sighed. “So, hey, remember when I got real sick in sixth grade?” she offered, and Dean nodded slowly.

“Yeah…” he responded. “You ended up having your appendix out. Ellen was in on the surgery, and…” Dean trailed off, putting real thought to the incident for the first time in years. 

As a kid, it had only made sense that Ellen be a part of Charlie’s surgery; after all, Ellen was a doctor, and Charlie needed help. Dean hadn’t been too aware of what sort of speciality Ellen had until his later teen years, and now, looking back, it made little sense of a reproductive specialist to be in on a procedure usually handled by a general surgeon.

“Charlie…?” Dean asked, prompting her to go further.

“It’s called hyperestrous,” Charlie told him in response. “That’s the clinical name for it, anyway. It basically means someone getting really awful heats, really frequently, and from a really young age. Mine started when I was about nine, but didn’t get so bad until I was around eleven.”

Dean’s brows lifted in surprise. “You’re an Omega?” he asked, shocked.

Charlie nodded. “I never really talk about it, you know? Unless people ask, I just let them think… well, whatever the want, I guess. Like you always did.”

Dean was at a loss. He had always thought Charlie was a Beta; he searched his memory, trying to think of any point where she had said as much, but he couldn’t draw up a single one. He was confused and surprised, an expected response to Charlie’s secret, but there was another part of him that was much more hurt than anything.

Charlie had been one of his closest friends, and it was bad enough that she couldn’t trust him with her secret, but a thousand times worse that she hadn’t confided it in him when he’d gone through his major identity crisis as a teenager. Finding out that he was an Omega had broken Dean’s world open and let in a plethora of worries and fears.

Having Charlie to lean on could have made that a little easier.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, sensing what he was feeling. “I would have… I mean, I wouldn’t even have kept it a secret so long, but Ellen asked me to.”

That brought about another round of shock and surprise, clearly showing on Dean’s face and rolling off the man in waves of distress scent. Castiel held his hand a little more firmly, watching Dean’s expression carefully.

“I had, like, the opposite of what you were going through, Dean,” Charlie told him, a plea for forgiveness in her voice as she spoke. “I was getting heat after heat, really bad ones, closer and closer together. My parents had to bring me to the hospital a bunch of times cos I’d start getting chest pains and pass out and stuff.”

“Hyperestrous is very taxing on the human body,” Castiel chimed in, nodding. “Most who experience it… Dean, they don’t survive very long past sexual maturity. It’s so rare that it doesn’t get spoken on very often, but I have read studies on it. It’s a terrible condition.”

Charlie nodded. “You have no idea,” she replied. “It got so bad that I had one of those… what are they called? TIA? TSA?”

“TIA,” Castiel filled in. “Transient ischemic attack. It’s a form of stroke, and it can be brought on by the severe tachycardia endemic to hyperestrous cases.”

“Right! That,” Charlie agreed. “So Ellen did a radical oophorectomy - see, I remember that one -- it means she went in and cut out all the eggs and the baskets they came in. Stopped the heats. Made me sterile too, but you know me. I knew by the time I hit kindergarten that I didn’t want to be birthin’ no babies.”

Dean glanced back and forth between Charlie and Castiel, both of their faces lit in the light of the fire pit; Castiel wore concern on his, brow creased and eyes gauging Dean carefully. Charlie’s expression was sheepish and apologetic, nervous too it would seem.

“Why didn’t Ellen want you to talk about it?” he asked slowly.

“That kind of intervention on such a young patient, even now, is practically unheard of,” Castiel told him. “There is an undercurrent of prejudice against Omegas in medical science, I feel, this idea that performing any sort of alteration on an Omega’s fertility is... is practically sacrilege.”

“Totally,” Charlie agreed with a nod. “Ellen wrote a paper on me and everything, and people got all pissy about it and wanted her hospital privileges removed and stuff.”

“But I’m not part of the ‘medical community’,” Dean blurted, hurt still shining in his green eyes. “Why couldn’t you at least tell me, Charlie?”

Charlie gave him a very sad, very small smile. “Cos by the time it mattered, Dean, Ellen was afraid you’d want the surgery too.”


	22. Chapter 22

Dean was angry. He had assured Charlie that everything was fine before she left, telling her time and again that she shouldn’t worry, that they were fine, and he wasn’t the least bit upset with her.

But he was angry.

Castiel could see it in the way he moved, harsh, jerking movements as he pulled laundry from the dryer, stuffing it down into the white plastic basket and huffing as he turned to head upstairs. He could see it as he followed Dean into his bedroom, plucking a few towels from the pile to fold while Dean silently made his bed with the clean linens from the wash.

He could see it as Dean yanked and pulled and punched at his pillow, even as he tried to shove it into a clean pillowcase.

“Dean,” he finally said quietly.

The Omega’s head turned sharply towards him when we spoke. “I don’t want to talk about it, Cas,” he spat out. 

“Dean, please,” Castiel replied gently. He knew this man now, as well as he knew himself; he knew that Dean was hurt and upset, and that he needed to talk about it before he bottled it up and stuffed it down deep to fester and rot.

Dean threw his pillow on the floor beside his bed, reaching into the laundry basket for a clean sheet. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean responded.

Castiel sighed, moving his pile of neatly folded towels to rest atop Dean’s dresser, before returning to the opposite side of the bed to help Dean place the fitted sheet upon the mattress.

“It’s not an easy decision to make, particularly for a child,” the Alpha spoke quietly, using an even tone that belied the worry he was feeling. “Certainly there are many who know quite young that they would never want children of their own, but there are just as many who might change their mind as they grow older.”

“Cas,” Dean warned, voice breaking just slightly on the single syllable as he spoke it. He reached to pull one corner of the sheet towards the head of his mattress, not even noticing that he had pulled it off the lower corner as he did.

“I read the papers on Charlie’s case some time ago, when I first decided to focus my practice on this particular specialty,” Castiel went on. He watched Dean’s hands, the way they fumbled with the sheets, the way he would stop momentarily and ball up his fists, fighting back words and whatever else was threatening to spill over.  
Still, Castiel continued, voice deep and soothing.

“Hyperestrous is very rare, and her case was the worst I’ve heard of,” he went on. “I have no doubt she would not have lived to see another year, if the intervention hadn’t been made.”

Dean snorted. “‘Intervention’, sure,” he grumbled. “Must have been nice for her afterwards, huh? Not having to think about any of this shit anymore? Not having to wait and worry, thinking this monster was ready to creep up on you any second?”

“I wouldn’t use the term ‘nice’, no,” Castiel told him, stopping his movements just after slipping the sheet over the top of the mattress on his side. “Charlie most likely has to be on a hormone replacement regimen now, at the least. Even with that, there’s still a large increase in risk of early dementia, cardiovascular disease, not to mention the psychological issues that may arise.”

Dean stopped what he was doing, having fixed the sheet at the foot of the bed, surprised at Castiel’s words; he’d never considered such things, that something so seemingly simple as putting an end to the torment of a heat cycle could bring about risks so dire.

“Osteoporosis, early onset menopause…” Castiel continued. “And Dean… there’s a proven link between such surgeries and premature death, losing ten, twenty years off of what one might expect to live in today’s day and age. It isn’t a decision made lightly on the part of any physician, and it shouldn’t ever be made for anyone quite so young unless the circumstances are extremely dire.”

“You mean, Charlie will… she could…?” Dean asked, face suddenly stricken of anger and alight with concern in its place.

Castiel nodded grimly. “We can’t even state why, at this point in medical science. We just know that there is such a strong correlation that one must be indicative of the other. I’m not saying we will lose Charlie tomorrow, but… there is a strong chance she won’t live on as long as most women of her demographic should.”

“Christ,” Dean said, scrubbing a hand over his face and sinking to his newly sheeted mattress. “I had no idea, I… shit, Cas. I would never have… I mean, Elle could have at least told me, you know, but… god. Charlie. Kid doesn’t deserve that shit, not at all.”

“Who really does?” Castiel replied. He walked around Dean’s bed to sit beside him. “It was something that was offered to my parents as well, an experimental surgery that would nullify my Alpha status and remove the long-term risks of going without a full presentation, but they had decided it wasn’t worth not knowing what could happen. It turned out to be the right decision; of the twenty-some Alphas who underwent the procedure, three died in their late teens of varying reproductive cancers, and fifteen or so by their own hand.”

Dean felt it again, that sudden unbearable sense of loss that had come to him in the car, driving home from first seeing Charlie. The reality of it shook him to the core; if such a thing had been undertaken by Castiel’s family, the same way Dean had been wishing his own had done, the man might not be there, alive and sitting next to him.

The thought of it made it hard to breathe, and Dean took several deep gulping breaths, quieted only when Castiel placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. The Alpha let out a slow breath of relief when Dean reached up to cover his hand with his own.

“I would have done it, you know?” Dean said quietly. “If Ellen had told me about it… even if my parents didn’t want it, I would have done it, soon as I was old enough to consent on my own.”

“I know,” Castiel replied.

“I never wanted this. To be an Omega,” Dean told him.

Castiel sighed softly. “I know,” he repeated.

 

“To need someone, the way I… the way I…” Dean stumbled over his words and drifted off, not wanting to say them aloud and make them real.

Castiel didn’t reply, knowing all too well what the Omega wasn’t saying. He wanted to respond, to tell Dean that he understood, and that he needed him too, but he knew the Omega wasn’t ready to hear it. He sighed and moved to leave, his fingertips trailing down Dean’s arm as he stood. 

Dean clasped at Castiel’s hand just as the doctor was about to remove the touch completely, twining their fingers together and making the doctor turn back in surprise. He could feel the emotion radiating from the Omega, hurt and fear and regret and sadness all jumbled together in a mess of confusion and pain, mirrored in a set of strangely innocent green eyes.

“Stay?” Dean asked, voice gruff and near embarrassed. Castiel’s brows shot up in surprise but he didn’t speak, letting Dean get the words out.

“Not to… you know,” Dean clarified, cheeks coloring pink even as he spoke. “Just… stay here. With me. Tonight,” he added.

Castiel nodded slowly. “I can do that,” he agreed. He had wanted to, wanted to offer, but he knew he needed to let Dean make the move; his Omega was nothing if not proud, after all, and for all the hurt that he was feeling, it had to be him to ask for the comfort of touch. 

Dean squeezed his hand once and then stood, quickly throwing the rest of the bed linens upon his mattress, before giving Castiel an uncharacteristically shy glance and moving towards the now empty laundry basket. He stripped down to his boxers, hearing the sounds of the doctor following suit, and then shuffled towards the bed in a manner so oddly hesitant, considering the last time they had shared a bed. 

There was some fumbling, muted questions about alarms and preferred sides of the bed, before the two slid between the clean sheets and Dean turned out the light. In the dark, the Omega grew bolder, and it wasn’t long before Castiel could feel warm hands searching him out beneath the sheets. He fell asleep quickly, with the gentle pressure of Dean’s head on his chest, their breathing falling together in time.


	23. Chapter 23

Three days after MissedMatch.com went live, Charlie’s mate found her. Two days after that, the woman had escaped her companion and run to an embassy in Greece, the latest stop on her companion’s tour of antiquities. She begged them for help in what little broken English she could speak. It had taken some time, and showing her her messages to Charlie via the website, before they understood the situation; once they did, the embassy officials wasted little time in issuing the woman a visa and sending her on a direct route to her mate.

Dean had been the one to take Charlie to the airport to meet the arriving plane. He was amazed at how kind and understanding of the situation everyone was. He had been concerned he wouldn’t be able to park for long in the pick-up lane, as police had a tendency to shoo away drivers that lingered too long before those they were picking up had arrived, but it had taken barely a glance at Charlie, trembling even as she carried a poster board sign covered in hearts with the name GILDA written across in huge gold glitter letters, for the traffic cop to smile and nod his approval.

The woman had brought very little with her, just a battered knapsack that carried what little clothing she had managed to squirrel away from her companion, and wore a tourist t-shirt advertising Athens, a pair of thrifted jeans, and scuffed white sneakers that the embassy employees had provided for her. Charlie perked up as soon as she stepped from the vestibule, and the woman broke into a run as soon as she spotted the petite redhead and her welcoming sign from across the lanes of traffic, arriving at her side in record time.

They embraced and tumbled to the ground together, huddled on the cold concrete and holding tight to each other, crying and kissing and each mumbling words the other couldn’t understand. A few passersby stopped and smiled, one or two catching photographs or videos on their phones before Dean managed to shoo them away; even the traffic cop seemed a little misty-eyed at the display.

In the car on the drive to Charlie’s apartment, with both women curled up together in the backseat, Dean could notice the subtle changes in their scents as a bond locked in place.

Over dinner that night, aided greatly by Castiel’s base understanding of Italian and Charlie and Gilda’s shared fluency of Tolkien’s Elvish, they learned that Charlie’s truemate’s name was Gilda Frottola, and that she had grown up in a very small village in the Italian alps. She had been cloistered by her family due to her status, and spent much of her time reading classics of the fantasy genre and teaching herself their invented languages for fun.

A childhood injury had robbed her of her fertility - though to Gilda, it was a gift, as she had always known herself to be in no way desirous of _bambini o marmocchi_ \- and left her without heats. An Omega was prized among the families of her village and commanded a high dowry, but a broken Omega was useless, a liability, destined to be a spinster and a burden on their family; so they did the unthinkable, masked her injury to a man travelling through their village, heir to a prominent family and a Beta who wanted the status symbol of an Omega on his arm, and all but sold her off.

Charlie cried alongside Gilda, as she spoke of being spirited off on the arm of Gerry, the _coglione_ ; she laughed when Gilda spoke of brandishing a serving fork against him at a dinner and threatening his manhood if he ever dare try to touch her.

Arriving home that night, Castiel was hanging up his coat in the front hall when he spoke on how remarkable it was that two so well-suited to one another should find each other, all the way on the other side of the world and so far from where either called home.

Dean had smiled and nudged Castiel with his elbow.

“What’s the matter, Cas? Don’t believe in truemates?” he asked with a wink.

 

Though legally the two need only register their bond, Charlie and Gilda insisted on having a wedding ceremony, not more than two weeks after Gilda’s arrival. Castiel offered up the bower house garden for the ceremony, and he and Dean bought and constructed a white wicker wedding arch, weaving flowers in and out of the wicker boughs, with Jo directing their progress from a deck chair, her feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the edge of the fire pit.

She helped Charlie find the perfect dress, a softly knitted white lace sundress that had been new perhaps forty years ago but arrived well-loved and well kept at a local thrift store. Jo stood as bridesmaid to both women, weaving daisies through Charlie’s short fiery hair and rolling Gilda’s into long curled tresses, crying tears of joy at seeing the love of her teen years finding a truemate; Gilda wore the golden sari that she had been wearing the day she first set eyes upon her mate, one of the few things she stole away with when she made her escape.

If Dean felt a stray tear or two escape him during the ceremony, he told himself it was just the flowers in bloom that had gotten to him.

Charlie spoke her vows in Italian, and Gilda her own in English. The reception was held at a nearby banquet hall and lasted well into the wee hours of the morning.

If Dean got a little handsy with Castiel on the way home, he told himself it was just the liquor, a little too much celebrating, that had amped up his long-neglected libido.

Charlie’s visit to their home had been something of a turning point, with neither man spending another night sleeping alone since. Which room they wandered to at night seemed to vary without principle, but they always wound up wrapped around one another between the sheets, waking covered in the other’s scent. There had been more than a few mortifying mornings when they’d wake to their bodies moving together without their permission, sleepy limbs tangled up together and hips slotted in mimic of their time spent in the safe room at the Center, but Dean had long decided that the benefits of the arrangement outweighed the potential embarrassment.

He simply slept better with Castiel there. He knew it was a trick of evolution, an Omega needing to have hackles raised when alone, and the comfort of a friendly Alpha allowing for him to put his guard down, but he didn’t care. For once in his life, status and sex didn’t matter to Dean; he just wanted those long dreamless nights, waking up feeling new and alive, with a warm body cuddled close beside him.

Omega or not, Dean wasn’t about to sleep alone again if he didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to my Italian ancestors and relatives; I don't think any of you would really sell off your children, much as my father threatened me with it as a child.


	24. Chapter 24

The coming months saw Dean spending more time at the Center. Though most of it was spent in the gym, assisting with self-defense courses, an occasional weekend free saw him passing a day in the daycare center; it had taken some time, but he had come to terms with the fact that, Omega or not, he was just plain good with kids. It might have been time spent shielding his baby brother from childhood bullies, or his easy friendship with Charlie when she was so much younger than he was, but it had made a mark on Dean and he had decided not to let it go to waste.

There was perhaps some guilt there as well; after the anger over Charlie’s silence had dissipated, Dean had felt immediately regretful and contrite for not having been someone she thought she could speak to about her problems. Even as young as they were, Dean’s devotion to his friends had been palpable; that, in spite of all of that, Charlie had felt she had to hide who she was had struck a chord deep within him.

He wished there could be a way for him to go back and give her a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold when she was young, frightened, and facing a life-changing surgery.

Knowing there was no way he could rewrite time had brought his need to help a younger generation to the forefront, and a hazy warm Tuesday morning found him at the Center again, playing tackle dummy for one of Jo’s Omega self-defence classes. The blonde had demurred acting as instructor the week prior, instead supervising one of her stronger students, a teenage Omega named Krissy, as she led the class; when Jo made the same decision that week as well, Dean had smiled.

“So,” he asked, in a conversational tone. “When are you due?”

Jo’s face went completely blank, a telltale sign of her preparation to tell a lie; her thoughts could easily be read on her features, and she seemed to believe that masking her expression would help her fabricated words pass, not realizing that the absence of her easy and expressive nature only made it all the more clear that she wasn’t speaking the truth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said plainly.

Dean snorted, stretching his back and doing his best to work out a crick in his neck before the class started; Castiel had stolen Dean’s pillow sometime during the night, leaving him cuddled against the other man’s midsection at an odd angle, only to wake up with a stiff neck.

“Jo, this whole gym smells like lavender, and it’s coming from you,” Dean told her, pointing an accusing finger at her middle. “That’s not normal for you. Plus you’re getting all… glowy.”

Jo smirked at him, hands on her hips. “Showin’ off that reactivated Omega nose, are you Dean?” she teased.

He shrugged. “Hey, don’t knock it,” he replied. “Let’s me know when to keep away from you, when you’re all hormonal.”

Dean didn’t even flinch at the hard punch to the shoulder he knew he would receive for his words.

“Only a couple of months,” Jo relented, folding her hands across her still flat belly. “I just didn’t want to take any chances I don’t need to be takin’. Besides, Krissy is so good, she has been talking about setting up a weekend class for the younger kids.”

Dean watched as the young woman in question deftly flipped a male Omega twice her size over her shoulder and onto the blue rubber safety mat, and turned to stomp on his groin, pausing before making contact and grinning down at her opponent. 

“Kid’s got skill,” Dean agreed with a nod.

“Good thing too,” Jo told him, hand absently rubbing at her lower back and the ghosts of aches there that had plagued her through her last pregnancy. “If this kid is anything like the last one, I’ll be big as a house in a few weeks.”

“Got any names in mind yet?” Dean asked mildly, watching as Kristy put another large Omega through his paces. “You know, ‘Dean’ can work for a boy or girl.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Ha ha,” she replied in a sarcastic tone. “I wouldn’t call any poor girl Dean if you paid me to. And if it’s another boy, well, I did promise Garth the next one could carry on his family name. It’s a big deal to him.”

Dean frowned, glancing to his friend. “Isn’t Billy a Fitzgerald?” he asked curiously. He knew that Jo hadn’t taken Garth’s name, but had thought she had given it to her son.

“Oh, he is,” she agreed. “But this poor child,” Jo went on, glancing down and patting her belly with a gentle hand, “Just might be destined to be Garth Ulysses Fitzgerald V.”

 

The class was just about wrapping up when Dean’s cell phone began ringing in his gym bag. He excused himself from the current exercise and carefully extracted himself from a surprisingly firm headlock under the arm of a willowy Omega named Lenore, and went to grab it. The tone that had played was a dull monotone ring, telling him that it was a work call redirected from his office; though he often had Tuesdays off, thanks mostly to the long hours he put in on other days of the week, he was always on call.

He had been working the case of a decidedly strange Alpha child, a little girl named Lilith. Though she often presented herself as a vision of sweetness and light, the chubby-cheeked little blonde girl struck an odd chord with Dean; he was sure there was far more going on than she let on, and notes from foster homes seemed to indicate the same. There had been more than one incidence of fits of rage, and at least one dead pet.

Dean thought it best the girl be mandated to a group home and given some psychological evaluation, but her former guardian, a distant uncle who had been imprisoned on drug charges the year before, was out of jail and petitioning for custody. An emergency hearing would be scheduled for that afternoon.

Dean was cursing under his breath by the time he made it to the office, having had little time to prepare. All of his paperwork on the case was in his file cabinet and he had arrived in gym clothes, having to change into the emergency dress shirt and slacks that he kept on hand in case of just such events. He had his briefcase tucked under one arm and was knotting his tie - which he realized, upon absently noting the bright blue color, actually belonged to Castiel - when he ran for the elevator; he still had ten minutes to make it on time, and with the doors closed behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he would make it.

Somewhere between the seventh floor, where Dean’s office was located, and the second floor, where small family court hearings were held, Dean noticed something that set his nerves on edge. Alone in the elevator, he realized that his earlier exertions had left him marked with scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, no repugnant body odor - he had made sure of that, wiping down with a clean towel in the restroom the best he could while changing - but it was still Omega, his own Omega scent, clinging to his skin and clothing. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He was not usually quite so careless; Dean had noticed very quickly the reaction he would get, after his heat had hit him and brought his full blown Omega scent to bear. Eyes would follow him, sometimes even footsteps trailing his own until a hard glare sent in their direction would scare them off. He wasn’t ignorant in the way the world viewed an Omega, certainly not in his line of work, and definitely no longer in his personal life. But he had never felt quite so exposed until now.

At home, he had soaps and body washes that could help neutralize his scent if need be. Days when he wasn’t working, when his only foray out of the house was to the Center or to his family home, Dean didn’t much care. That day in particular, knowing that he would be getting a workout at Jo’s class, he hadn’t bothered to shower at all, preferring to clean up once he got home. His own need to stay cuddled beneath the sheets just a little longer that morning had come back to bite him.

Dean held his head high when he walked into the courtroom, even as heads turned his way; they had been waiting on his arrival and didn’t begin the process until he was seated, ready to give his testimony when asked.

The little girl sat primly beside her assigned state guardian, a lawyer named Tammi that Dean had never been entirely fond of, though she did seem to always have her appointed client’s best interests in mind. Lilith swung her feet back and forth in her chair, smiling at anyone who glanced her way, and seemed for all intents and purposes a well-adjusted, happy child.

At least to anyone who hadn’t seen what was left of the Fremonts’ cat.

Her uncle was seated across the room with is own lawyer, a sleazy type who advertised on buses and took on any client willing to pay in cash. For all of the lawyer’s faults, though, his client managed to make even him look good.

Alastair Streicher had a rap sheet as long as he was tall and gangly, detailing dozens of crimes that he was never officially convicted on. He was slick and slimey, somehow always oozing his way out of any real messes and only getting a slap on the wrist when the evidence was irrefutable. His last imprisonment had been for trafficking of a banned narcotic hormone booster that was used to trigger irrepressible heats in Omega victims. The sentence that had been handed down had been five years, but Alastair had been released in less than a year.

‘Good behavior’, the warden had called it. Dean was of the mind that they simply didn’t want the man polluting the prison population.

His beady eyes had tracked Dean as he took the stand to testify and stayed trained on him for most of the proceedings.

“Mr. Winchester,” Tammi had asked, after having established that Dean was the social worker of record on Lilith’s case. “What is your professional opinion on this matter?”

“I believe that the child, Lilith Streicher, should be remanded to the custody of the Department of Child Support Services,” Dean told her simply. “There are too many incidences of problematic and even violent behavior to warrant placing her back into her uncle’s home. I would also recommend that Lilith undergo a full psychological evaluation, particularly after the incident that occurred at the home of her last foster family, the Fremonts. Putting her back into the situation that brought about the behavior we’ve seen will only serve to exacerbate it.”

Tammi nodded to him. “Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

The judge turned to the opposite table, directing his gaze to Alastair and his attorney.

“Mr. Jackson?” he asked the attorney.

“Just a quick question, your honor,” the man said as he stood. Tall, with a hooked nose and too-long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, he turned to Dean with a grin, unbuttoning his suit coat with one hand as he did. “Mr. Winchester, it has been recent indicated on your public personnel file that you bear Omega status, is that correct?”

Dean blinked. “What?” he said in surprise.

“You are an Omega, are you not, Mr. Winchester?” the attorney pressed.

Dean frowned. “I don’t see why that matters, but yes, I am.”

“Do you have a point, counselor?” the judge asked, clearly annoyed.

“Your honor, I simply wish it to be known to this court that the social worker of record, Mr. Winchester, could easily be bearing prejudice against my client,” the lawyer said, smiling again.

“That is complete bullshit,” Dean deadpanned, breaking the professional demeanor he usually held in court and in his office. 

“What we have here is an Omega in a position of power over an Alpha, who has been wrongfully accused at startling frequency of being involved in the trade of illicit sexual stimulants,” Jackson cooed. “That would be enough for anyone of his… station… to seek to twist the facts…”

“Wrongfully accused?” Dean echoed. “The guy was caught with crates full of that shit - and don’t call it a stimulant, it’s a rape drug and you know it. Even if this child wasn’t a danger to herself and others, there’s no way that creep should be allowed around any kids at all.”

“Mr. Winchester, if you could please contain yourself,” Tammi grumbled, head in her hands.

“If this court wants to maintain any facade of fairness, then Mr. Winchester needs to be removed from this case and a new social worker appointed for young Ms. Streicher who should, in turn, be remanded into her uncle’s custody until it is prove more productive for the child to be homed otherwise,” Jackson said, ignoring the others as they spoke entirely and addressing the judge.

“That is quite enough, from all of you,” the judge said, clearly irritated. “Court will recess while I review the facts of this case and then I - and only I, Mr. Jackson - will decide who is qualified to speak for the welfare of this child.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE:  
> This chapter contains a description of an attempted sexual assault. It does not go to fruition and the sexual aspects are not heavily described, but I know that some might be triggered by this sort of thing and wanted to make sure no one would experience that here.
> 
> It will only be referred to afterwards as 'the incident'l.

The judge remanded Miss Lilith Streicher into the custody of the Department of Child Support Services, to be housed in a small facility held for troubled children, until such time as a complete psychological evaluation had been done and a treatment plan put in place to ensure the future well-being of the child.

Dean wasn’t surprised at the ruling, in spite of the drama that Alastair’s lawyer had performed in the courtroom. The photographs of the remains of the Fremont’s cat had been more than enough to sway Dean’s opinion on Lilith’s mental health, and they did much the same for the judge. 

The fact that he had been called out over his status in open court, though, that was new. Dean knew it would come up eventually; there was always some slimeball trying to use status as a means to get their point across and get their way in a court case, particularly in family cases. Alpha parents demanding custody of their children from their Omega counterparts, citing the Omega as somehow unable to provide for them; Omega parents demanding custody, implying the Alpha parent wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off of an Omega child. It was all fairly disgusting, in the long run, but fairly typical of family court.

Still, it had shaken him. He knew what his scent was like, walking into that courtroom. He carried the sweet note of an unmated Omega now and, worse still, he hadn’t showered that morning after climbing out of the bed he had shared with Castiel the night before. The only thing more appealing to an Alpha than an unmated Omega was an unmated Omega covered in another Alpha’s scent; it spoke to a deeper, primordial urge within them, drawing a need to claim and conquer what another had failed to take.

In the modern world, people had mostly evolved enough to move past such things, but all the same, Dean might as well have gone in wearing a brightly colored t-shirt painted with the Omega symbol: Ω.

He had almost forgotten that there were still people in the world who would make an effort to exploit the status of others. Almost.

 

After court had adjourned for the afternoon, Dean slipped into the restroom, splashing cold water on his face and trying to get some of the anger he was feeling out of his system. His job could be upsetting, he knew, and he didn’t want to carry any of that home with him; Castiel was the same way, choosing to decompress in his office at the Center before heading home for the evening. 

Dean let his mind wander, thinking on Jo and the new little Garthling on the way, trying to remember if he had left his cell phone in his gym bag or locked it away in his desk drawer, and wondering what had happened to little Lilith to make her so keen on hurting others; he was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear a pair of boots on the tile floor or the turn of a bolt in the bathroom door.

He had just been straightening up from washing his face clean of sweat with cool water from the tap when he was shoved hard from behind, sending his midsection colliding hard with the ceramic edge of the restroom sink and knocking the wind out of him. Dean struggled to draw in a breath, once, then twice, and had barely gotten his wind back when a pair of hands drew up around his waist, pressing him forward again.

“Mouthy little Omega,” Alastair muttered from behind him, and Dean gagged. 

The man stunk, of something sickly sweet and wet and rotten, dirty cardboard boxes left in a basement after a flood or the foul carrion scent of an animal trapped and left to die and decay. Dean gagged again, harder this time, bringing up a mouthful of bile and the remnants of the sports drink he had pounded during his time in the Center gym that morning, and spat it into the sink.

So focused on escaping the Alpha’s stench - for Alastair was an Alpha, Dean could tell, even though he claimed Beta on his court papers - that he hadn’t even realized what was happening until he felt the clear impression of the other man’s arousal at his backside and his bony hands reached for Dean’s belt.

“Gonna show you what an Omega is good for,” Alastair mumbled against the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean froze. For a second; not even a second, less than that, a millisecond. A fraction. A speck of time so insignificant as to barely be recordable. But to him, it was forever.

To his mind, Dean stood there for a small eternity, the stinking Alpha hovering behind him, his stench clogging Dean’s nose and thoughts, his hands searching at Dean as though he owned him. The world stopped turning and Dean, for that brief moment, was terrified.

But even as his mind blanked out, Dean’s body knew what to do. His head snapped back hard, knocking Alastair in the face and sending the man cursing and stumbling backwards. Dean turned quickly and landed a punch to Alastair’s jaw while the man was still holding his hand to his injured nose and mouth, and another to sent him to the floor. A swift kick to the Alpha’s ribs kept him down, and Dean unlocked the door to go find security.

He was running high on adrenaline and didn’t even notice the slow trickle of blood down the back of his scalp until a paramedic pointed it out to him; the Alpha’s gaunt face and snaggletooth had caught Dean when he had butted his head back and torn the skin. It only needed three stitches, and Dean was free to go.

Alastair, on the other hand, wasn’t free at all; he would be charged with assaulting an officer of the court and, after Dean had considered the ramifications of the decision, with attempted sexual assault. If nothing else, Dean was assured that the man would never get his hands on little Lilith ever again.

 

He was dead tired and aching bone deep by the time he got hpme, dropping his briefcase and gym bag on the floor in the front hall. The house smelled wonderful, the mingled scents of Castiel and home, with something delicious wafting from takeout containers on the living room coffee table. Castiel had been stretched out on the couch with a book but sat up immediately when Dean walked in the door, eyes narrowed and paperback tossed aside.

Dean’s face colored in embarrassment, knowing he must reek of the foul Alpha from the courthouse.

“Cas, I-” he started, looking for a way to explain. He had no time to finish, with the doctor already on his feet and swiftly heading towards him.

“Dean, are you alright?” Castiel asked, concern evident in his voice and expression. “You’re hurt. I can tell. Do you need to see a doctor? We can go to the clinic, and…”

“Cas, no, calm down, I’m fine,” Dean told him, relief flooding him as he spoke. “I just… I got called into work, things got kind of crazy. Let me take a quick shower, okay? Then I’ll tell you all about it.”

Castiel nodded, still frowning in concern. “Okay,” he relented, eyes still searching Dean for any sign of injury. He paused and suddenly wrinkled his nose. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “Yes, go on with your shower. You… oh, you really need it!”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh as Castiel covered his nose and backed away.

 

The hard spray of water down Dean’s back in the shower felt as good as any massage after the day he’d had. He felt lighter and more relaxed as the stink of Alastair and his grimy hands slipped down the drain, and grew drowsy, leaning his forehead against the wall and closing his eyes. If he wasn’t standing, Dean was certain he would have fallen asleep.

When he finally pulled himself out from beneath the water, he only half-noticed that the towel he used to dry himself was Castiel’s, the Alpha’s leather and cinnamon cool scent making him pause and take a long deep breath with his face pressed into the plush terrycloth of the pillow.

By the time he ambled down the stairs, dressed in a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, the late evening light had dimmed and Castiel was still waiting, having thrown dish towels over the takeout containers to keep the food warm.

He stood as Dean approached. 

“Dean, please,” he said, no small amount of worry in his voice. “Tell me you’re not too badly hurt?” It was clear he had been waiting with great concern while Dean was showering, and for that the Omega felt a little sorry.

“Cas, I’m fine, I promise,” he said, ducking his head so that Castiel could see the dissolving stitches that the paramedics had put there. “They said it’s fine, just try not to wash my hair for a couple days and clean it every once in a while, and it’ll heal up fine.”

Ever the physician, Castiel carefully inspected the wound and, once he was satisfied that no permanent harm had been done, he tilted Dean’s face up and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You frightened me,” the doctor admitted softly. They sat down on the couch together, Castiel leaving a wide berth for Dean to move closer, and sighing in contentment when the Omega leaned into his embrace.

“That I got hurt?” Dean asked carefully, shifting to make himself more comfortable. “Or that I came home reeking of the Alpha that did it?”

Castiel gave a little chuckle and made another surreptitious inspection of Dean’s wound.

“I’m a physician, Dean,” he chided gently. “And I am your mate. I know well enough to know that if that Alpha’s scent was revolting to me, it would be to you as well.”

“Gotta be honest,” Dean admitted with a small laugh. “I did throw up a little.”

Castiel kissed him again, this time atop his head, and paused to take a long, deep breath of his mate’s scent, doing his best to ignore the lingering trace of anesthetic and alcohol from the wound.

“Want to tell me what happened?” he asked, still cautious. He had learned well that Dean was something like a buck when it came to these sorts of things: beautiful, and proud, but very easily spooked.

Dean shrugged, as if the whole affair was nothing.

“Got called in to work,” he explained with a sigh, absently kneading his fingers against the knee of Castiel’s jeans. “Dickbag Alpha didn’t like the way his case went, or that an Omega’s opinion helped sway the judgement. Tried to take it out on me. Didn’t get far.”

He felt Castiel tense below him for a moment, but just as soon relax, and Dean turned his head so Castiel couldn’t see the small smile that came to his lips. Alpha bravado was nothing he wanted to deal with, but his mate being a little jealous? That wasn’t so bad.

“I do hope you made him pay for it,” Castiel said quietly, and nuzzled his nose behind Dean’s ear, unconsciously spreading his scent on his mate’s skin.


	26. Chapter 26

Dean was present at Alastair’s second evidentiary hearing, and though he had mixed feelings when Castiel asked if he might come along, he had allowed the Alpha to attend alongside him. He knew that Castiel had suspected the nature of the attack all along, and confirming it made no difference between them. The charges added up to a level four felony and nearly eighteen years in prison, but Dean talked the district attorney into offering a plea deal of a flat ten year sentence without possibility for parole, if Alastair would plead guilty to the charges, and surrender his rights to Lilith, allowing the state to get her the help she so greatly needed.

Dean had taken the stand, explaining the situation to the judge, from start to finish, and the judge had agreed to accept the deal, should Alastair agree to take it.

It had taken some convincing from his attorney, but the sleazy Alpha eventually gave in.

“That was very brave of you, Dean, and very kind,” Castiel said quietly as they left the courtroom.

Dean rolled his eyes even as a pink tint rose in his cheeks at the doctor’s words.

“What? No. It’s just… you know, what… what anybody would do,” he protested.

Castiel put a hand on his arm to stop him as they walked across the marbled foyer of the courthouse.

“No, they would not,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “Dean, you put the welfare of that little girl above all else.”

The look that Castiel gave him then sent a flutter deep in his chest; it was all at once appraising and approving, bright and happy as though Dean himself were the cause of some great joy. It made the Omega flush, even as a coil of pleasure rooted itself deep within him.

Castiel looked at him like the hung the very moon.

Like he was admired.

Like he was important.

Like he was _loved_.

 

It started a few days into the late fall, when the weather moved from the brisk days of changing leaves and cool sunshine to bitter cold and piles of dead foliage crunching underfoot. The turn in weather always brought with it a higher caseload for Dean; cold, gloomy days seemed to bring out the worst in people. He had been spending more time at the office than usual, taking his meals where he could.

It was only while enjoying the final crumbs from the bag of corn chips he’d gotten from the office vending machine that Dean realized it had been less than an hour since his lunch break with a double-stack of pancakes at the diner down the street. He pondered it as he crumpled up the bag and went to toss it into his trash bin, where he was taken aback to see the sheer quantity of snack wrappers already in the bin. Candy bars, cookies, snack chips, granola bars, even the tiny plastic canister for a package of breath mints he had meant to keep in his desk drawer for emergencies.

Even then, it took a few moments to click in his head, and when it did, he paused another long moment in surprise before acting. Dean made a call to Ellen’s office at the center, and then sent a quick email to his boss before wrapping up what work he could and heading out for the day.

He arrived home at his usual time, and if Castiel noticed anything different, he didn’t mention it.

 

The weather had made it clear it had no intention of turning back to the sunny days of Indian Summer, choosing instead to make due on the threat that low hanging dark clouds had been making for days. Castiel drove carefully through the downpour, mindful that he hadn’t gotten his brakes checked in a long while, and let out a sigh of relief when he made it home from an afternoon shift in the Center’s clinic in one piece. Dean, at least, he knew would be safe; his mate took better care of his car than he did himself, forgetting his own doctor’s appointments but making sure his baby got an oil change when she was due and a tune-up when he felt she was ready.

Sure enough, the Impala was already safely tucked away in the garage, sheltered from the storm that only grew more violent as Castiel pulled in beside her. Wind whipped through the trees at a rapid pace, sending the few dying leaves still clinging to stricken branches flying, only to be swept up in a frantic whirlwind and sent sailing down the swiftly flooding streets. 

Castiel sighed again, watching his breath puff out in the frigid autumn air, happy to be home and out of the worst of the storm. It was going to rain for days, if the weather forecasters were on target with their reporting; the idea of just holing up inside was all too appealing.

He was so distracted by his thoughts of _home_ and _warm_ that he had taken several steps inside and locked the door behind him before he had even noticed.

For a moment, he thought that Dean had surveyed the weather and made some attempt at making warm apple cider. The air in their home was awash in something familiar, sweet and spicy, delicious enough to make the doctor’s mouth water even as he stood stock still in the front hall, eyes closed and breathing deeply. He took more great gulping greedy breaths as he stripped off his coat to hang in the small alcove in the front hall, resting his briefcase atop the cabinetry there and kicking off his wet shoes on the mat by the door. 

Appropriately disrobed of his outdoor clothing, Castiel rubbed his cold hands together, working warmth back into his frozen fingers, and closed his eyes to take another deep breath. It was only then he noticed another note to the scent, deeper and almost clouded by the wonderful sweetness of it. He was still puzzling over it, loosening his tie with one hand while the other rest atop the banister as he began to mount the stairs when the familiarity overtook him.

Sun-warmed leather and something fresh and green, new herbs or an untouched forest.

Castiel stumbled on the stairs, the icy touch of the autumn weather overpowered suddenly by the feel of molten lava rushing through his veins and pounding in his ears. Brutish thoughts came unbidden, the need to find the source, find Dean, and stake his claim, but Castiel’s more civilized mind pushed them away with a frown. That wasn’t him, he reminded himself. That was the lizard-brain, vestige of millions of years of evolution that brought mankind to its current state, not the barbaric creatures of eons past.

Dean was in heat, and bonded or not, Castiel’s first need was to protect the Omega, even if that meant removing himself from the situation. All he need do was move quickly to the master bedroom, grab the bag he had readied for such situations, and be on his way.

His legs were sluggish on the stairs now, though he fought them all the way. Much as his mind pressed forward with his plan to leave Dean to the safety and comfort of their home for the duration of his heat, it was clear that Castiel’s body had other ideas. 

He paused again at the top of the stairs, letting himself just breathe and enjoy the scent for a long moment. He had no idea when he might have a chance to experience it again, after all, and it couldn’t hurt just to take a few deep breaths to remember it by. Castiel had forgotten that the old bower houses had been insulated in just such a way to hold scent within; it was likely that the air would remain spiked with Dean’s heat scent for days after it ended, and as tortuous it might be in the long run, Castiel eagerly clung to enjoying it in the days after, when he was allowed home again and could use the remnants of heat scent in the air and his own hands to indulge in a few fantasies on his own time.

He shook his head and almost laughed at himself for the thought, planning to pleasure himself in days to come with the fading scent of his mate’s heat surrounding him. How far gone he must be on the other man, Castiel thought, that so sparse a delight should have him eagerly anticipating the days ahead.

He sighed and shook his head again to clear it, and continued on his way, stopping at the closed door to the master bedroom to steady himself and keep from continuing on down the hall to Dean’s room, and then pushed it open.

The scent in the master bedroom was overpowering and nearly brought Castiel to his knees; a small whimper escaped his lips even as his eyes fell upon Dean, fully dressed and sitting patiently on the bed.

The Omega gave a small, nervous smile.

“Hey Cas,” he said.


	27. Chapter 27

“Dean!” Castiel said in surprise, stumbling in the doorway. He gripped the frame with white-knuckled intensity, awash in the scent of his mate and wanting so badly that it seemed to burn through his blood, a constant fiery thrum pounding through his veins and flushing his face warm and red.

“I don’t…” he went on, shaking his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs of heat and need. “I’m sorry, Dean. I must have misunderstood our plans, I didn’t know you intended to use this room for your… during your… while you were indisposed. If you would just… my bag, it’s in the closet, if you’d… no, no, it’s fine.” 

Castiel straightened, steeling himself even as his breaths became rapid and a fine sheen of sweat shown on his face.

“I’ll go,” he said hastily, turning back towards the hallway. “I’m sure I have provisions enough at my office to last a few days, and if I need anything further I can…”

He’d been so caught up in gathering the good sense to turn around and leave that he never saw Dean stand and cross the room on bare feet, heavy hand landing on Castiel’s shoulder to turn him around.

The Alpha frowned. “Dean?” he asked.

“Don’t go, Cas,” Dean told him, almost shyly. He looked up at Castiel from beneath thick lashes, freckled face seeming so young and so bashful that it almost broke Castiel’s heart.

It helped him to gain greater clarity and control over himself, feeling an almost physical sense of loss at the very thought of leaving, but knowing it was what he had to do.

They weren’t ready. Dean wasn’t ready. Castiel could wait.

“Dean, it’s better if I go,” Castiel responded, hand covering Dean’s where it sat atop his shoulder, for just a moment.

Dean smiled, reaching to touch Castiel’s face, letting his fingertips slide along the Alpha’s cheek and down to caress his jaw, loving the way that Castiel allowed himself to close his eyes and lean into the touch, a soft groan rumbling low in his throat as he did.

Just as quickly as he did, the doctor blinked several times and pulled himself away, offering a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was inappropriate.”

Dean couldn’t help himself, small smile breaking into a laugh, causing the Alpha to squint his eyes and frown. He seemed ready to ask what Dean found to be so amusing, so the Omega decided then and there to take action; he took Castiel’s face in his hands, gentle against the Alpha’s overheated skin, and smiled again softly before leaning forward to press their lips together.

Dean felt his body tremble when the Alpha responded, sliding his hands along Dean’s waist and slipping them beneath his flannel shirt to brush his fingertips along the Omega’s t-shirt at the small of his back while deepening the kiss. Dean responded enthusiastically and in kind, letting his own hands drop to pull Castiel’s body flush against his own. He felt himself lighting up from within, a thousand pinpoints of starlight glowing beneath his skin from the attentions of his mate, something warm and sweet burning in his chest even as the heat of arousal sent him soaring.

Breathless, Dean let Castiel pull just so far away, resting his forehead against the other man’s and smiling softly, pressing gentle chaste kisses to the Alpha’s lips even as they drew in new breaths in time. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, panting just a little. “You’re making it very hard for me to leave.”

“Stay,” Dean told him, voice barely reaching above a whisper. “Stay here, Cas. Stay with me.”

Castiel crept a hand up Dean’s back to the nape of his neck, sliding through the short hairs there as he closed his eyes and let out a groan.

“Baby, we can’t,” he mumbled, and Dean shivered again at the use of a pet name. They hadn’t ever said such things to one another, in all the time they had been living together. The thoughts had been there, unbidden and unspoken, nearly from the beginning, Dean mentally prefacing his words to Castiel with ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ and even occasionally ‘baby’, equating the Alpha in status and endearment with the car he called by the same name and counted as the longest and most successful relationship of his life.

There were times as they slept when Dean would inch closer, wrap himself in Castiel’s arms and think ‘Alpha’ and ‘mine’, but never say it, sleepily mumbling out only unintelligible sounds of comfort and satisfaction. There were mornings where they would meet in an upstairs hallway, Castiel fresh from a shower, towel wrapped around his waist and rivulets of water still slipping from his wet, messy hair and Dean would think ‘hey sexy’, only to nod and voice a ‘hey Cas’ instead. He knew now, the way the sweet endearment slipped from Castiel’s lips, that the Alpha had been doing much the same all along.

“We can,” Dean told him, voice barely above a whisper. “Stay with me, Cas, I want it. I want you. Please, stay with me.”

It was Castiel’s turn to shiver, his Omega’s pleas falling on eager ears. It would be difficult to say no, to extract himself from Dean’s arms and go on his way as he had planned; it would hurt as well, the pain of leaving a lover behind, as though abandoning them in time of great need, would be almost too much to bear. Inwardly he cursed his Alpha heritage, wishing he could have met Dean a different way, introduced by Ellen during one of Dean’s Center visits or even running into one another in the parking lot or on the street, a friendly smile and an attractive figure turning a head and causing them both to stop and say hello.

How much easier it would have been for both of them, had they been able to see one another first without the cloud of status hanging over their heads, fallen in love on their own and not brought together first by something so cold and clinical as biology.

Because Castiel had realized that some time ago, that beyond all want and need of pheromones and heat cycles, the green-eyed Omega had stolen his heart, by virtue of his sense of humor and gruff posturing, the kindness he showed in his work and his personal life, the simple little day to day moments that they shared. Castiel had never loved anyone before, not like this, and it was killing him to walk away.

Dean pulled back and took the Alpha’s face in his hands again, leveling their gaze so that Castiel could see how unclouded his mind was, how clear and precise he spoke.

“Cas, I want you to stay with me. It’s not the heat or hormones or anything like that. I knew this was coming, Cas, I went to see Ellen, made sure everything was okay and that I could handle it. I knew it was coming and I stayed here, to be with you.”

Castiel froze at Dean’s words and looked, really looked at the man standing before him. Dean’s pupils were blown, wide and black with the arousal pumping through his body, but they were clear, not glassy and confused as they had been when they first met. His lips were pink and kiss-bruised but pulled back in a small smile, no sign of desperation there at all.

Still skeptical, Castiel frowned. “You… want me?” he asked, no small amount of hopefulness in his voice.

Dean responded by kissing him again, long and deep and hungry, leaving them breathless once again, chests heaving even as they pressed closer together.

“Yeah, I want you Cas,” Dean confirmed, licking his lips and tasting the other man’s presence there. “Want you. Want my mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random FYI: I was listening to Jason Mraz "I Won't Give Up" on repeat through most of this chapter.


	28. Chapter 28

Dean hadn’t lied when he said that he had gone to see Ellen when he felt his heat began creeping up on him. He had felt ridiculous; she made him don a paper gown and sit on an examination table, taken blood and urine and even convinced him that he needed an ultrasound.

That had been a strange affair, flat on his back with his boxers riding low, cold clear goop spread across his belly. Ellen ran the transducer wand back and forth over his stomach, watching a black and white screen that looked like little more than clouds and smudges to Dean, making soft humming sounds as she did.

“Elle?” Dean had asked, eyes trained on the screen.

“Yes?” she responded absently, pressing the wand down further against his skin as she did. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Charlie’s surgery?” Dean asked quietly.

Ellen frowned, pursing her lips, but kept her eyes on the monitor. “Finally let the cat out of the bag, did she?” she said and then sighed, and it seemed for the first time that Dean could see her for all that she was: a harried doctor, a worried caregiver, deep lines etched into her skin with each new case that went bad, each new patient she couldn’t help.

How many of those lines were for Charlie?, Dean wondered. How many for Jo, and her babies? How many for Dean?

“I get why you didn’t tell me,” he said quietly. “I get it, I just… I wanted you to know. That I knew. And I’m not pissed or anything.”

A slow smile had curved Ellen’s lips and she glanced up at him with warm eyes. “If you recall, Mr. Winchester, I did say there were surgeries. I just didn’t say what they were. And you declined to do anything at all.”

Dean chuckled, the motion of his laugh wobbling the transponder still pressed to his belly and making the blobs and shadows on the display jump and bounce.

“Yeah, and what did that do for me? Am I all busted up on the inside?” Dean asked. He tried to maintain a light, cheerful tone to his voice but he couldn’t help the way it wavered. His policy of sticking his head in the sand had been a dangerous gamble, he knew that now; enough time browsing the internet had awakened him to the horrors of what an Omega with a dormant reproductive system might have to face. There were cancers, endocrine disorders… he had been stupid to let it go for this long.

Pity he hadn’t met Cas a little sooner.

“Looks about the same since the last time you let me examine you,” Ellen advised, returning the transponder to its cart alongside the monitor and snapping off her gloves. She tossed Dean a few paper towels to clean off the goop on his stomach and leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest. “Everything is where it should be, but it’s not doing much of anything. You’re clearly in the early stages of a heat but, I’m sorry Dean. I don’t think you’ll ever…”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “Hey, Elle, it’s okay,” he said, mopping up the last of the gunk on his stomach. He tossed the paper towels into the waste bin and rolled down his t-shirt. “Can’t work miracles. I didn’t expect that kids were really in my cards. I’m okay.”

Ellen pursed her lips. “Are you?” she asked.

Dean nodded. He was happy; he felt good. His life had done a complete turnaround in just a few months and though the new stress of having an active heat cycle that needed to be managed would be a pain in the ass, he’d gained so much more.

A home. A mate.

“Hey, if everything worked out perfectly for me, I wouldn’t be me, right?” Dean told her, flashing one of his more charming smiles. He pulled Ellen into a quick hug and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, you get on home,” she told him, swatting at him as he ducked out of her way. “Be careful, Dean. I know you always think you can take on the world but you’ll be puttin’ off signals on your way.”

 

Which is what led Dean to where he was now, pressing chaste little kisses to Castiel’s lips as he tried to get the Alpha to relax, hands popping the buttons of the Alpha’s white dress shirt as he did. 

“Dean,” Castiel all but whined out. He could feel his resolve slipping away so easily, and it terrified him just a little. Could what Dean had been saying be true? Could he really be ready? God, Castiel hoped so.

Castiel may have been an honorable man and done all that he could to be a modern, civil-minded Alpha, but he was still human and desperately trying to deal with urges he had never felt before. 

Most days he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Dean, just stay there wrapped up together for as long as they could. It was hard enough just prying himself out of bed to go to work sometimes, but this? Dean here, the scent of his heat filling their bedroom, desire boiling low and hot in his belly… it was too much.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked, gruff voice near a whisper. “Please, tell me you’re sure, Dean, I can’t… I need you to be certain that you’re ready, that you want this…” He was gripping Dean’s t-shirt by then, the scent of his own arousal escaping into the air around them and mingling with Dean’s own heat scent.

Dean was smiling when he took Castiel’s face in his hands, looking into blue eyes gone so dark they seemed nearly back.

“Yeah, Cas, s’what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he said, a little breathless, beads of sweat beginning to stand out on his skin. “I’m ready. I want this. Please.”

Castiel groaned. “Oh thank Christ,” he grumbled, and kissed Dean so soundly that it stole his breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this came from or and I make no guarantees about finishing it, but I hope to add two more chapters.


End file.
